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^ .‘J^*^ % c®^ *C.^’ °o . 






Phil Conway 


A NOVEL 


By 

Archibald Clavering Gunter 

n 

AUTHOR OF 

“MR. BARNES OF NEW YORK,” “BOB COVING- 
TON,” ETC., ETC. 



NEW YORK 

THE HOME PUBLISHING COMPANY 



LIBKAkY of CONGRESS 
Two Coptes Received 

JAN 13 1904 

Copyright Entry ^ 
CLASS XXc. No. 

CORY B 


Copyright, 1903 
by 

A. C. GUNTER 
All Rights Reserved 
Puhliihed in yanuary^ ^9^4 


CONTENTS 


BOOK I. 

In a Bachelor Apartment House. 

CHAPTER. PAGE. 

1 . The Revelation of the Parrot’s Cag^e . s 

II. The Broken Scissors .... 25 


BOOK II. 

The American Engineer. 

CHAPTER. PAGE. 

III. The Lady at the Hotel Window . 33 

IV. The Wife of the Refugee ... 50 

V. The Telegram Sent from Coban , 67 

VL The Daughter of the Fugitive . . 80 

VII. On the Deck of the New Orleans Boat 96 

VIII. The Little Flat on Fifty-eighth Street 121 

IX. A Tete-a-tete Muleback Ride 


. 141 


4 


CONTENTS. 


BOOK III. 

His Magnificent Enemy. 

CHAPTER. 

X. The Open Telephone . • . . 

XL A Lady Visits the Bachelor’s Flat 

XII. The Fairy Bridal Gift 

XIII. “ Before the Altar I Bury My Father’s 

Wrongs ! ” ■ 

XIV. Her Life First; Her Love Afterwards!” 

XV. The Bridesmaids’ Lunch 


BOOK IV. 

The Surprises of a Night. 

CHAPTER. 

XVI. The Vengeance of Circumstances 

XVII. Von Tschudi Insures His Life , 


PAGE. 

164 

176 

200 

214 

222 

23s 


PAGE. 

251 

273 


PHIL CONWAY 


BOOK I. 

In a Bachelor Apartment House. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE REVELATION OF THE PARROTTS CAGE. 

*‘Mein Herr, that you will not to me listen I am 
sorry. To save your life I had hoped !” As he uttered 
these startling words the German looked in almost pity- 
ing interest over his blue eye-glasses at the stalwart 
young American. 

“To save my life? Absurd!’^ answered the New 
York stock broker, extending a brawny arm beneath 
the sleeve of his cutaway, for he was in business dress 
and the heavy overcoat he had just thrown off indi- 
cated he had come in from a blustering night. “I am 
happy to say I am as sound a risk as was ever offered 
to a life insurance company.” He glanced at the door 
significantly and repeated curtly : “Good night !” 

Upon this scene the office clock in the “Mephisto,” 
the great apartment house for rich New York bachelors, 
intruded, striking eleven, early in the spring of 1903. 
Save feminine chatter and laughter from a bachelor’s 

5 


6 


PHIL CONWAY. 


supper in Bloomer’s adjoining flat and the subdued 
hum of passing cabs from neighboring Fifth Avenue, 
the luxurious parlor of Philip Caskill Conway, the 
young and recently successful stock operator, was silent 
as the two confronted each other. 

One was a man of about thirty, whose appearance 
was that of an American whose days and most of his 
nights were devoted to business, but whose mind and 
bearing had been improved both by education and 
travel. He had handsome brown eyes, affected by that 
quick, nervous movement so often noted in those en- 
gaged in great and uncertain speculations ; but the long 
mustache covering his lip indicated repressed power 
and considerable determination. His forehead, though 
strong, was not too high for beauty, and both his face 
and his manner at times had in them a soft enthusiasm 
that must have been extremely pleasing to women. His 
height was somewhat above that of his fellow men, 
his frame well knit and athletic yet slight. His com- 
plexion, however, bore that peculiar tinge produced by 
continued exposure in the open air, though this 
had now apparently been mellowed by recent more se- 
dentary occupation. 

The man upon whom he gazed was in peculiar con- 
trast to him, being somewhat shorter, much stouter, 
and about fifteen years older. He had a plump, putty- 
complexioned face, lighted by pale blue eyes, which 
were covered by light blue spectacles. His voice and 
bearing were Teutonic; his evening costume correctly 
elaborate, yet unduly adorned by some very fine 
jewelry. 

Then the young proprietor of the apartment, with 
a cool yet impulsive gesture, pointed to the door and 
repeated, with a slight sneer in his tone and the curt 
air of one who wishes to get rid of an intruder: ^T 
tell you I am perfectly well. Good night.” 


PHIL CONWAY. 


7 


'‘Nevertheless, it is not so many years since you re- 
covered from the yellow fever,” remarked the German, 
eying the young man critically. 

“The yellow fever ! How do you guess that?” asked 
the American, surprise in his tone. 

“By observation,” remarked the Teuton philosophic- 
ally. “By that process I have already noticed such 
imminent danger upon you here in your very apart- 
ments, that, even though you command me, I will not 
leave you, my rash young Herr, until you I have 
warned how to protect yourself against what, to your 
unobserving senses, nothing means.” 

Here the American business man broke out in a tone 
of astonished anger : “You will not leave my apartment 
when I tell you? You’re a pretty brassy fellow. You 
enter my rooms at eleven o’clock at night, as I am about 
going to bed, and tell me you come to save my life! 
The only thing I know about you is that you call your- 
self Professor Andrus Von Tschudi,” continued Mr. 
Philip Caskill Conway, of the New York Stock Board, 
glancing at a card he picked up from his handsome cen- 
tre-table, “and yet you have had the presumption to re- 
quest me to reveal to you the innermost incidents of 
my life.” 

“In order that I may save it. Mein Herr” replied the 
German, bowing suavely. 

“Yes, you have said that before,” answered Conway. 
“You announce you have seen here enough to make 
you feel that my life is in imminent peril. What is 
your business, anyway?” 

“My profession, impetuous young man, is a novel 
one,” answered Von Tschudi. “I note unobserved 
crimes in process of development and ” 

''You note unobserved crimes f” interjected the 
American, astounded. “By jove, that is a new busi- 
ness 1” Then he observed sarcastically : 


8 


PHIL CONWAY. 


“And make yourself a party to them, an accessory 
before the act ! That’s criminal under the law, let me 
tell you.” The stock broker gazed suspiciously at the 
philosophical looking German. 

“No,” answered Von Tschudi proudly, “I prevent 
the crimes being committed.” 

“Oho, you make your money, I presume, by alarming 
people at crimes that are about to be perpetrated 
upon them,” jeered Conway. “But you can’t frighten 
me!” he added determinedly. 

“These testimonials,” observed Andrus Von Tschudi, 
producing several letters, “will show you that I have 
won not only the respect but the gratitude of those 
whom I have served. This is from Baron Lobisco of 
the Russian Legation, whose life I saved from a Nihil- 
ist in Washington. This is by Mr. Francis Martin, the 
New Street banker, whose valet I discovered was about 
to purloin his wife’s diamonds. This one from a Greek 
lady with a pretty daughter in Hoboken whom I res- 
cued from a most distressing case of blackmail.” He 
placed several letters before the American. “This last 
is from a particular friend of yours, I believe.” 

“By Jove, it’s in Babcock’s handwriting 1” ejaculated 
Philip. “One of the governors of the New York Stock 
Board ! Of course I know both him and his signature 
very well.” 

“Yes. Herr Jonas Babcock had a very unpleasant 
affair of an extremely private nature, but I was of a 
great use to him. From these letters you can perceive 
that I do not consort with criminals ; I foil them — I op- 
pose them !” answered the Professor pompously ; then 
continued in more philosophical tone : “There are a 
great many crimes in this world unobserved by the 
police^ unnoticed by everybody, even by those who suf- 
fer, and sometimes die from them ; crimes that leave 
scars upon humanity, yet are unsuspected by humanity. 


PHIL CONWAY. 


9 


which regards them as accidents arising from the laws 
of Nature that make our very existence upon this planet 
so uncertain, the only thing certain in it being that some 
day we shall all die.’' 

‘‘Ah, then you say unperceived crimes are quite 
numerous ?” observed the stock broker carelessly. 

''Mein Beelzebub, there are several at this moment 
in this big bachelor apartment house. The ‘Mephisto’ 
is worthy of its name. On the third floor a young 
business man is now trying to make his old partner’s 
wife untrue; Mr. Bloomer’s merry supper party — we 
hear the ladies’ light laughter now — would possibly 
furnish a couple of divorces if investigated. Crimes, 
like microbes, are everywhere. Like microbes, they are 
often unobserved. When I was a commilitone at 
Heidelberg I discovered that the crack duelist of the 
Burschenschaft placed always a soporific in his adver- 
sary’s beer on the day of meeting. He had been en- 
tirely unsuspected until I noticed that as he passed a 
certain drug shop on the Haupstrasse the paukant al- 
ways upon his face wore a peculiar triumphant yet 
crafty look. I became his next opponent’s sekundant 
and took care my principal had no knockout drops in 
his beer. He cut the scoundrel’s head open very easily. 
At the exkneipe that night I exposed the scalawag.” 

“Ah, you denounce these malefactors to the police,” 
remarked Conway, in more complaisant tone. 

"Ach Goff, that would be but to give the detective of 
the police precinct glory!” smiled the German. “I 
simply prevent the crimes being executed.” 

“Humph, it seems to pay you very well, judging 
from your appearance,” observed the stock operator, 
eying a magnificent ring upon one of the rather plump 
fingers of Von Tschudi’s left hand. 

“Yes, that is a very handsome ruby. It is worth 
about ten thousand thalers ; a present from one of your 


10 


PHIL CONWAY. 


leading financiers, for preventing his daughter eloping 
with an Italian who posed as a Count. It was hard to 
convince the fool girl, but I had a photograph of the 
fellow winning a hair-cutting contest on the Bowery a 
few years previous.” 

During these remarks, Conway had been studying 
his intruder. Von Tschudi’s iat face, suave manner 
and his occasional lapses into German construction, 
though his English was generally idiomatic, did not 
impress the young American business man very favor- 
ably. He now sneered: “Well, if you are so brilliant 
at divinations, tell me how the stock market is going 
to-morrow.” 

'‘Mein Himmel, that is beyond me!” chuckled the 
philosopher. “Could I fortell the fluctuations of securi- 
ties, I could be a millionaire without investigating 
crimes that sometimes make me shudder ; I would then 
be one of your criminal financiers myself, inflating 
stocks, ruining widows and orphans, and performing 
all the other legal crimes of an ‘up-to-date’ Captain of 
Industry — I think you call it that.” 

“Then,” yawns the stock broker, “I do not think 
I have got any use for you. Thank Heaven Tm short 
on crime!” 

“Ach Gott, you’ve got one in this very apartment,” 
answers the German. 

“Have I? Well it doesn’t interfere with my rest,” 
grinned Conway. “At present I’m — I’m sleepy. Please 
withdraw, my philosophical German. I shall slumber 
just as soundly as if you had not attempted to frighten 
me.” The young man stepped to his parlor door, 
opened it and glanced nonchalantly into the hallway 
of the magnificent apartment house, whose main cor- 
ridors were brilliantly illuminated by electric lights. 

Looking on these lights, the German, who had 
shrugged his shoulders and had been about to leave al- 


PHIL CONWAY. 


II 


most angrily, immediately returned and whispered in 
horrified tone: “You will sleep soundly — probably 
the sleep of death ! It would be a crime for me to go 
until you have listened to me. Though you, in your 
American audacious way, think you have strength 
enough to defy the powers of nature, your well-knit 
frame would succumb to what is over you as quickly 
as that of a delicate girl. Mark you well what I to you 
say. Since I have entered your apartment, the follow- 
ing facts I have noted. Though you, Herr Philip Con- 
way, are generally known in New York as a stock 
operator, you are by profession — ’’ the German's 
blue eye-glasses ran over the library off the parlor, 
which, like the rest of the rooms in the flat, was lighted 
by incandescent electricity — “a mining engineer. With- 
in the last few years on engineering business you in 
Central America have been. There the yellow fever 
you did catch." ' 

“Pish! you think to impress me with you^fevela- 
tions," scoffed the American business man.' .TAll this 
you may have learned about me by inquir)r." 

“I had never seen and I had heard but little about 
you until this evening, when induced by certain sus- 
picious occurrences in connection with your flat, I in- 
vestigated you. People in this vast apartment house 
may be contiguous without being intimate. Though 
I live but a story above you, just across the court, 
all that ever attracted my attention to you before to-day 
was, that you had hanging out of your bed-room 
window an infernal parrot that sometimes jabbered 
bad Spanish and often sang the diabolic air, ‘Comrades,’ 
in a squeaking voice and then commanded to himself in 
shrieking tones: 'Quit that! Give us a rest! Go to 
the woods !’ until some of your neighbors indicated that 
they agreed with him by throwing boots at the bird; 


12 


PHIL CON WAV. 


likewise myself, for he sometimes drove me nearly 
frantic.’^ 

''Ah, smart old Chic(3k!” laughed the American. "A 
great bird, though sometimes a noisy one. He’s asleep 
now; I haven’t heard him shriek since I came in.” 
Then he continued, in a kind of jeering meditation: 
"But I can draw logical inferences as well as you, my 
philosopher. That I am a civil and mining engineer 
is not difficult to guess. I saw your eyes rest upon 
my old transit instrument in the library ; that indicates 
an engineer. In addition, my Ladd & Oertling travel- 
ling assayer’s balance standing on the bookcase near 
it suggests metallurgy and mining. That I have been 
in Central America on business connected with my 
profession you may easily guess from those elaborate 
maps and elevations of the Nicaragua Canal hanging 
upon the walls of my library, and also those magnificent 
skins of the quetzal, the bird of Guatemala. Perhaps 
the jabber of my parrot Chico, that I brought with me 
from Livingston, may have indicated the bird came 
from Central America. But as to the yellow fever, 
how the deuce did you guess I had suffered from that 
disease ?” he asked curiously. "Are you a doctor ?” 

"No, I’m simply a social scientist,” answered Andrus, 
gravely, "and to be an expert social scientist requires 
a smattering of almost every profession under the sun.** 

During this the American had remained at his door 
as if still indicating that the German’s exit was 
expected. Noting this. Von Tschudi went on eagerly: 
"You are right as to what disclosed to me that you 
were a mining and civil engineer, and you have guessed 
my reasons for believing you have been in Central 
America. These three small idols, also are peculiar to 
that country, and could only have come from the extinct 
cities of Mitla, Copan or Palanque.” The German in- 
dictates some hideous stone images in the room. "As to 


PHIL CONWAY. 


13 


the yellow fever, knowing that you had been in a 
tropical climate, and observing those little red marks 
just fading from your neck^ I quickly divined you 
had been a victim to that dread malady. They must 
have taken four or five years to become indistinct ; they 
are the last traces of ‘Yellow Jack.’ Mein Gott, I 
nearly died from el vomito negro myself once, at San- 
tos, Brazil. I have not forgotten it. But these things 
do not tell me what I now state to you — mark you !” — 
he whispered into Conway’s ear — “that you are the 
affianced and shortly to be wed to a young lady — ” the 
German’s eyes run over the apartment again — “of 
Spanish blood, yet you receive anonymous letters from 
some other lady ; that you are heavily short of Ameri- 
can Metal stock ; besides, you have a secret from your 
fiancee, one that you would not let her discover for 
the world, because you love her too dearly for ” 

During the latter part of this harangue Conway has 
given three or four starts of astonished surprise; he 
now bursts forth : “How the devil do you ?” 

“Ah, how do I know all this ? Well, let me sit down, 
smoke my pipe, and do you to me listen !” answers the 
German impressively. 

“Very well!” The American’s manner changes 
from that of a man determined not to be annoyed by an 
importunate visitor to that of one who has made up 
his mind that it is to his advantage to listen to his 
guest and as such wishes to make him comfortable. 
Under this impulse, the young stock broker indicates 
politely a comfortable chair and pushes a box of cigars 
in front of Von Tschudi, takes one himself, lights it 
and seats himself in an armchair in front of his very 
handsome writing table. This is used as a desk, judg- 
ing by the papers with which it is littered and a mov- 
able telephone on it convenient both to his ear and his 
lips. 


14 


PHIL CONWAY. 


A moment after he turns curious eyes upon his im- 
promptu mentor, who is occupied in locking the door 
leading to the hall and looking cautiously through the 
rooms, apparently to destroy any danger of intrusion 
upon their interview. These preparations for privacy do 
not seem to alarm Mr. Philip Conway, who has been 
accustomed by his profession to encounter the dangers 
of travel and the hardships of wild life. His nerves 
are those of a healthy man of thirty, only slightly 
racked by the cares of an enormous Wall Street specu- 
lation in which he is at present engaged and which 
seems about to turn against him. He sits tranquilly 
smoking his cigar, and, as the German approaches him, 
demands : ^‘Tell me, how did you guess these secrets 
of my private life, which I thought were entirely my 
own ?” 

‘‘By induction, mein frennd” answers the German, 
refusing the cigar, but producing a well-colored meer- 
schaum pipe, that he fills and proceeds to smoke in a 
meditative manner, giving out the following disserta- 
tion between placid whiffs: 

“That you are heavily short of American Metal 
stock is indicated to me by that minus sign before tfie 
figures 52,600 which you scribbled on that blotting pad ; 
the ink is scarce dried. Minus to a mathematician 
signifies lacking. As you are a stock broker I presume 
it refers to stocks or bonds. Naturally, in this present 
exaggerated market you will be short of American 
Metal, as you, an engineer, know its output is gradually 
growing more limited and that rival companies are 
manufacturing its products. Your perturbed counte- 
nance also shows you are short of it, as the market for 
these Metal shares has been rising. Besides, you have 
been figuring on the very paper before you how much 
money will be required to margin 52,600 shares, ten 


PHIL CONWAY. 


15 


points above 43, at which American Metal Common 
closed to-day, by the papers I to-night note.” 

To this Mr. Conway makes no direct reply, though 
his brow knits with the anxiety of a speculator; and 
Andrus continues, with a shrug of his fat Teutonic 
shoulders : “As to the young lady to whom you are 
to be married, she is all about this room, even in your 
pocket, even in your watch. During the first part of 
our interview you looked twice at your time-piece to 
give me a hint that I you should leave. In doing this, 
you once carelessly opened the reverse side of the watch 
and I noticed a miniature containing the same beautiful 
face as the one on that oil painting upon which, during 
this interview, several times with loving eyes you have 
gazed.” 

“By George, for a man with glasses you see very 
well !” mutters the American, turning his glance also 
on an exquisite portrait that hangs nearly opposite to 
him. 

It is the presentment of a girl of exquisite figure, cos- 
tume and bearing, apparently of Spanish descent 
though curiously it is that of a blonde, whose skin, 
fair as ivory, permits the rich blood to giveTlushes to 
her cheeks, and whose hair is not dark, like that of 
most women of the Iberian race, but softly golden, 
luxuriantly wavy, and adorning a face that is made al- 
luringly piquant by eyes, soft, languishing, Castilian, 
yet blue as the azure. Her whole features though 
dominated by an expression of smiling archness and 
entrancing femininity, display an indefinable nobility; 
suggesting a girl who might in time of trouble be as 
firm, resolute and enduring as the far-famed Maid 
of Saragossa. 

“That you are to be married shortly,” continues 
Von Tschudi, “is to me certified by that beautiful book- 
mark ornamented by convent embroidery and Spanish 


PHIL CONWAY. 


t6 

inscriptions; Castilian donas only give presents to 
Caballeros who are very close to the altar steps with 
them. In addition, a Spanish maiden would scarce 
call at your rooms, even though chaperoned by a most 
careful duenna, unless the ceremony were announced.” 
Von Tschudi picks from a neighboring sofa and holds 
up a single long wavy hair that gleams golden in the 
light. 

Gazing upon this, Conway’s eyes grow bright; he 
commands : “Give it to me !” Taking careful posses- 
sion of the beautiful capillary he goes on rapidly : “Yes, 
I am to be wedded three days from now to the young 
lady whose picture is on that wall. I have kept this 
affair out of the newspapers as much as possible. I 
am too busy a man, just at present, for farewell bach- 
elor dinners and such social disturbances. My affianced 
did visit my rooms to-day, to consult with me in regard 
to the details of the ceremony and the house that I am 
fitting up for our future occupancy, but chaperoned 
and accompanied by the lady who is her guardian. 
Next Thursday she will be my bride.” Rapture lights 
up the young man’s handsome face. 

“Ah, I can see that your affianced is as ardent as 
you,” remarks the German pleasantly, “for in front 
of you is a letter addressed in a very pretty feminine 
Spanish handwriting. Yes ; the one that you tore open 
as soon as you stepped into this apartment — you could 
not wait for its contents. Your eagerness in regard 
to it is quite in contrast to your neglect of that other 
epistle, also in a feminine, but Anglo-Saxon chirog- 
raphy — the one still unopened, the one you scarcely 
noticed when you came in. You cared so much more 
for your fiancee’s note than for that of La Anonyma.” 

“Why, it’s still in its envelope, I have not yet broken 
the seal !” exclaims the stock operator in a startled tone. 
“How do you know that letter’s anonymous?” 


PHIL CONWAY. 


17 


“Ah, but there is another in similar handwriting torn 
up in your waste-paper basket, and I notice from one 
of its scraps that it is unsigned,” laughs the German. 

But, as if anxious to cut this catechism short, Con- 
way, who has gradually been growing gloomy under 
considerations of the stock market or some other dis- 
quieting reflection, suddenly queries : “You seem 
anxious to obtain my confidence by your acute divina- 
tion of the things about us. What is your object in it ?” 

“To suificiently gain your trust,” answers Andrus in 
an impressive whisper, “that you will permit me to 
prevent your being murdered!” 

“Murdered!” ejaculates the other, with a sudden 
start. Then he sneers coldly : “You think my danger 
is so imminent.” 

“I know it,” asserts the German tersely, “because 
it is upon you now. If I leave you unwarned, you will 
probably be a corpse before morning.” 

“What gibberish is this?” The American’s tone is 
angrily unbelieving. 

“Before you scoff me,” rejoins Andrus quietly, 
“please note that the parrot, your pet hanging outside 
your bed-room window, is dead !” 

“What, Chico dead?” cries the young man, starting 
up. “The bird usually greets me. He has not given 
voice since I came in !” 

Conway has already sprang into his bedroom, thrown 
open the window, and leaning upon the steam register 
that is beside it, is about to take hold of the parrot’s 
cage. But the German, who has flown after him, seizes 
his hand and whispers : “Would you be dead also?” 

“What do you mean ?” 

“Look! The bird is lying half consumed. Smell 
the odor of burnt feathers. Glance through your win- 
dow. You see that copper wire dangling from above. 
It is connected with the bird cage. Seven or eight 


i8 


PHIL CONWAY. 


hundred volts have passed through that parrot. Touch 
that cage with your right hand, your left resting on that 
heater as it is now, and the current will be completed 
through your body and you will be as dead as Chico 

“The wire connection was made from above,” re- 
marks Conway. “They hoped I’d take the cage in my 
hand and die like my poor pet.” 

'‘Donnerzvetter, you are a man of action !” cries the 
German, as Phil exclaims : “If the miscreant is in the 
room above. I’ll catch him !” turns hastily and strides 
towards the door of his apartment. 

But Von Tschudi waddles after him and stops him 
by saying: “You will find no one up there. All this 
business was done hpurs ago, before even I noticed 
the dead parrot. The guilty one is far from here now. 
About three o’clock this afternoon I happened to hear 
your parrot screaming: ^Diablo, who’s playing with 
Chico’s cracker? Let my cage alone, mitchachar 

^'Muchacha, the Spanish name for girl,” mutters 
Conway, a strange pallor coming over his countenance. 

“Yes, somebody was probably arranging the wire at 
that time,” rejoins the German. “To it I didn’t pay 
much attention. After a little, maybe an hour, my 
window was open — I was pondering on the case of 
the Greek lady whose daughter is threatened with 
blackmail in Hoboken — I heard the parrot shriek : 
‘Oh, hell!’ Then nothing more. Soon a faint odor 
of burnt feathers came into my window; I gazed 
out and saw the parrot as you see it there, dead, 
and its cage damaged by electrical disturbance. I pre- 
sume the bird reaching out with his beak or claws had 
touched the water pipe that runs down the wall and so 
completed the circuit. How a current dangerous to 
life had got into this building bothered me. I have 
a friend, a very expert electrical contractor. You may 
have noticed his signs about New York: ‘How’s your 


PHIL CONWAY. 


19 


Wiring? See Schoenberg.’ I thought I would see 
Schoenberg and called him up from his main Sixth 
Avenue office over the telephone. To my questions he 
replied : ‘The ordinary alternating currents now in use 
in the modern apartment house are low tension and 
will kill nobody, but in the basement of some of 
them is a high tension alternating current that would 
be fatal were it not passed through a transformer. But 
if you have an amateur camera-fiend in the building he 
may have had a high tension current of large voltage 
brought from it to his rooms for photographing pur- 
poses.’ I remembered that Girton, who has just left 
the apartment opposite me, No. 37, had been in the 
habit, as an amateur, of using the camera in his rooms, 
photographing pretty girls, etc. I asked Schoenberg a 
few more questions over the ’phone and was not re- 
assured by his laughing remark as he closed the inter- 
view : ‘Whom do you want to kill ? The janitor?’ Then I 
made up my mind that you should not enter your rooms 
unwarned, and rapped on the door of your apartment ; 
it was locked. I stepped down to the office and learnt 
you had gone to Lakewood and would not return till 
late this evening. Incidentally I made some inquiries 
about Girton’s apartment; the clerk looked round for 
the key and couldn’t find it. He thought, probably a 
bellboy had it showing the rooms to someone. Then 
I went up to Girton’s old apartment, found the door 
of No. 37 locked, and though I made inquiries, in a 
guarded way, no bellboy had the key. Since then I 
have loitered about determined to warn you the instant 
you entered your rooms.” A moment after he asks 
suddenly: “Your valet has been away all the after- 
noon ?” 

“Yes, but I can’t suspect him,” replies the American. 
“Manuel, my man who has been with me for years, I 
would trust as I would myself. Besides, for two days 


20 PHIL CONWAY. 

he has been arranging a pretty little cottage at Lake- 
wood for me, where I expect to take my bride for our 
honeymoon. It was on this business that I went there 
immediately after my fiancee and her mother left here. 
Coventry, the young Englishman who has assisted me 
during Manuel’s absence, seems too stupid to be aught 
but honest, and in addition has been away all the after- 
noon. I let him off as I was going to Lakewood. Be - 
sides, the Anglo-Saxon race as a rule don’t invent these 
extraordinary subtle assassinations.” 

“Oh, don’t they? How about Palmer, the English 
poisoner? Who knows the truth of the Cunningham- 
Burdell murder? Let me remind you of Carlyle 
Harris; likewise the San Francisco medical student 
who produced such a wonderful alibi in court, yet 
stored his Sunday-school victims up in the belfry of 
the church until their bodies cried aloud to Heaven 
against him ? Oh, don’t they ? All nations have crimi- 
nals, and most of them have some very subtle ones,” 
observes the German. “Even if we could get in up 
stairs we would only find a connection made with 
Girton’s photographic current by a copper wire that has 
been brought down to this bird cage through the air 
shaft.” 

“Very well,” answers Conway, “I’ll talk over the 
matter with you and arrange some method for detect- 
ing this enemy to my life, but first I’ll make this 
murderous machine innocuous.” With the quick skill 
of an engineer, he protects his hands by a couple of non- 
conducting rubber mats and begins to untwist and dis- 
connect the deadly wire from the bird cage. Von 
Tschudi gazes in admiration at Conway’s mechanical 
deftness, as the two confer upon the best mode of de- 
tecting the criminal. 

“I can’t think it is anybody in Wall Street wants to 
kill me,” suggests the stock broker. “I’m not a big 


1>HIL CONWAY. 


21 


enough operator to make my murder an object to any- 
body down there. Besides, speculators take your 
money, and not your life. Though Til find the scoun- 
drel if I run the earth over to do it. I’ll ” 

Here Conway pauses in his work with such a start 
that Andrus thinks for a moment he has received a 
portion of the electric current ; Phil’s hand trembles so 
nervously. 

■ The American being still busy with the wire, An- 
drus strolls out of the bedroom into the parlor. Here 
he quickly transfers from the waste-paper basket the 
torn portions of the anonymous letter to one of his 
pockets. The other eoistle still unopened, is yet upon 
the writing table. 

He scarce completed this when he is joined by the 
engineer-stock broker, who, coming from his cham- 
ber, stammers, his voice thick and his tongue apparently 
clumsy: “On — on second thoughts I — I don’t think I 
will go any further in this matter. Some absurd scan- 
dal might arise which might be discussed in the news- 
papers and would be un — unpleasant on the eve of my 
marriage. We’ll together go upstairs, find the bellboy ' 
with the key, and get into Girton’s vacant flat. There 
I can easily rearrange the electric wire and nobody but 
you and me need know anything about it.” 

The American’s face is pallid and his eyes have in 
them a strained, unnatural, frightened expression. Gaz- 
ing at him, the German whispers : “A moment ago you 
wished me to help you run down the miscreant. Now 
you desire this attempted crime buried in oblivion. Is 
this sudden change in you because twisted about that 
bird cage you found a few partially burned hairs simi- 
lar in color to the golden one I lifted from your sofa 
five minutes ago?” 

At these words Conway staggers for a moment 
as if Von Tschudi had given him a blow; then he 


22 


PHIL CONWAY. 


draws himself up firmly and says proudly: “No! 
Don’t dare to hint that I fear the woman who is my 
affianced wife has anything to do with this plot for my 
murder. You don’t know the girl I love, or that sus- 
picion would never enter your logical head.” 

“And yet it was in your logical mind,” rejoins the 
German ; “I mentioned in the first part of our interview 
that you had a secret from your fiancee; one that 
you did not dare to disclose to her.” Then, gazing 
searchingly at the American, he propounds, with awful 
acuteness, this tremendous question : “Is your secret 
such that did she know it your betrothed might fancy 
she had just cause to condemn you to death?” 

The effect of this interrogation upon Conway is 
horrible. His face grows paler than ever ; he makes a 
movement to cover it with his hands. 

“Think over the matter,” remarks Andrus. “Con- 
sult these people who have signed letters recommending 
me, and you will find that I am discretion itself and 
secrecy inviolate in the most delicate matters affecting 
the lives and well-being of my clients. When you re- 
flect, you will determine that this is a matter that must 
be cleared up, not only for your own safety from 
death, but because there should be no. specter between 
a man and the bride he meets at the altar.” 

This is interrupted by a ringing of Conway’s door 
bell. The American places a finger to his lips, steps 
to his portal and opens it. In the hallway stands a 
bellboy who presents him a note and remarl^s : “Ladies 
in carriage waiting!” 

Tearing it open, Philip’s face becomes that of tke 
ardent lover, who forgets that he has been threat- 
ened with death within the minute, in the thought of 
looking upon the face of the woman he adores. 

While he is reading, the bellboy, lingering in the hall 
near the half open door in the hope of a ten-cent piece, 


PHIL CONWAY. 


23 


says suddenly: “Did you drop this ’ere?” and picks 
up a key. Von Tschudi promptly takes it. 

Looking at it he gives a start. 4^ It bears the number 
37. ^‘Yes, Mein Knabe,” he says softly, and rewards 
the boy with the expected dime. 

A second later Philip whispers to the German : “My 
betrothed and her mother are in a carriage below. They 
ask me to join them at supper. They have just come 
from the opera — a long performance — I shall accept. 
Come down behind me, gaze at her and see if any man 
could doubt her.” 

“Very well, afterwards I will contrive to rearrange 
the electric wire above,” remarks Von Tschudi, “so 
that no one will guess.” 

During this, the young American has thrown on his 
Inverness, locked his door and is already passing down 
the stairway. Andrus follows him. It is but one 
flight to the ground floor. A private equipage is drawn 
up by the sidewalk. As Conway reaches the carriage 
the electric lights of the apartment house entrance dis- 
close a young and beautiful woman, who eagerly draws 
aside her satin skirts for the gentleman to take his 
place beside her. The face in the door of the vehicle 
the German can see is an almost perfect type of Castil- 
ian blonde loveliness; eyes blue, trusting, steadfast; 
lips like coral ; complexion ivory and roses. He hears 
a soft voice say: “Ah, mi cahallero, I thought you 
would come. Supper at Sherry’s will now be a pleas- 
ure to us, won’t it. Mamma?” 

Behind the speaker he observes another lady, ap- 
parently slightly older, though her face is in the shadow. 

As Conway is about to step into the carriage. Von 
Tschudi quickly draws him aside and whispers : “Not 
a word that Chico is dead in his bird cage! At four 
to-morrow afternoon, I shall see you.” 

“I understand,” assents the American gloomily. 


24 


PHIL CONWAY. 


He steps into the vehicle, which drives away, and 
the German for thirty seconds remains contemplatively 
absorbed in the beauty the electric lights had disclosed 
to him. Then he steps quickly to the flat above Con- 
way’s, unlocks the door and enters Girton’s vacant 
apartment. A few minutes’ quiet work makes every 
thing safe. Passing to his own room. Von Tschudi 
draws from his pocket the pieces of the anonymous 
letter he had taken from Philip’s waste basket. Having 
arranged them carefully, he reads in clear, upright, 
modern, feminine handwriting the following: 

“Do not be alarmed at the rise in American Metal Common. 
It is but a demonstration against the short interest. You may 
be perfectly certain that it will not go higher than forty-five, 
for I have information from the very power that controls it 
and am, as ever and always, devoted to the interest of Mr. 
Philip Conway.” 

'‘No signature,” mutters the German. “But here is 
another woman who loves this American engineer- 
speculator. Donner und Blitsen, philosophy, when it 
encounters woman’s passion, generally meets the un- 
expected.” 


CHAPTER II. 


THE BROKEN SCISSORS. 

The next afternoon at the appointed hour Von 
Tschudi enters the apartment of Philip Conway and 
finds the young stock broker apparently expecting him. 
He has been sending a telephone message, probably on 
business, for a memorandum in front of him is covered 
with figures and quotations, likewise an evening edition 
of a New York paper. Seeing Andrus, Phil immedi- 
ately springs up and says : ‘‘Thank you for coming.” 

“Don’t let me interrupt your telephoning ” 

“My telephoning is finished, and I’ve got to see you 

at once. This cursed newspaper ” Conway throws 

down the receiver hurriedly on his table, springs to 
his feet, pulls out a cigar, sticks it into his mouth in a 
nervous manner, though he forgets to light it, and 
paces the room uneasily. 

The German sociologist inspects his client, wonder- 
ing if his perturbation is caused by the uncertainties 
of the stock market — for the day has been a tumul- 
tuous one in Wall Street — or the uncertainties of love. 

The American’s speech almost immediately tells Von 
Tschudi it is the latter. 

He says rapidly : “How the deuce did you guess last 
night that I had a secret from my coming bride ?” 

“When I entered your apartment last evening,” 
answers the German quietly, “you told me to wait a 
minute and went into your dressing-room to wash your 
face; you had just returned from a railroad journey. 
While I waited I investigated your waste-paper basket 


25 


26 


PHIL CONWAY. 


to see if I could find traces of the enemies who were 
trying to kill you.” 

“You’ve the cheek of the devil !” growls Conway, 
astounded. 

“I did not find your enemies,” returns Andrus pla- 
cidly, unheeding the comment. “But among a pile of 
stock memoranda I discovered a fragment of a care- 
fully drafted letter in pencil. It read : ‘You can see 

how vital it is that my affianced never learns ’ I 

hope you did not send that letter ?” he adds earnestly. 

“I did not ; I agreed with you after I had drafted it,” 
mutters Philip gloomily. “Your very audacity may 
make you useful to me.” Then apparently having 
made up his mind to a certain line of action, the Ameri- 
can goes on with business directness : “I have person- 
ally called upon your former clients, Mr. Von Tschudi, 
investigated the references you have given me and 
found as you stated, that you have been of great assist- 
ance to them in their various and peculiar social dis- 
tresses. Consequently I am disposed to engage you in 
this matter. And yet” — the young man hesitates — 
“to make you of genuine use to me I am compelled to 
trust you with the confidences of my very soul. 
But” — Conway’s face becomes resolute — “this is a 
matter that must be settled. In some way, I must put 
from between myself and my affianced a specter which, 
as my nuptial day grows nearer, looms up larger and to 
me more threatening. As for the attempt at my murder 
last night, that is a secondary matter.” 

“£m tausend Teiifels, a secondary matter!” ejacu- 
lates the German, seating himself. “I think you will 
find that somehow, in some way, it is with your coming 
marriage connected.” 

“But not with my affianced wife,” asserts the Ameri- 
can. “You saw her face — it must have told you her 
exquisite character. From it you must have learnt, 


PHIL CONWAY. 


27 


first, that she loves me; second, that she is too noble 
in spirit to enter into a secret plan of assassination 
against anyone. In addition, every word she has ut- 
tered to me has been that of a bride, eagerly looking 
forward to the day when she will become mine. Ex- 
pectant brides want to marry living men ; and I, if it 
had not been for you, would probably have been a 
corpse last night. As the savior of my life I am dis- 
posed to give you my confidence.” 

“Better give it to me, mein Freund” rejoins the 
German, “as the man who is going to, I hope, remove 
the cloud from it.” 

“I don’t know whether that is possible,” observes the 
young man gloomily. “But lock the door! Manuel 
has returned from Lakewood this afternoon. I have 
sent him away, so that no one will be about us; for 
some portions of what I shall tell to you even the walls 
ought not to hear.” His tone and manner are such 
that they impress his auditor. 

Von Tschudi steps to the door, carefully secures it, 
examines the apartment thoroughly even to its closets, 
then goes into the bedroom and closes the windows into 
the courtyard, to be sure their voices do not drift out. 
Gazing after him, Phil, noting the empty cage of his 
dead pet, reflects sadly : “Poor old Chico ! Does your 
fate predict mine ?” But a moment after, throwing off 
the gloom of this ominous suggestion he becomes the 
young American of mathematical yet quick brain and 
succinct and accurate statement as he questions sharp- 
ly : “That electric wire which threatened me, is it safe 
for everyone in the house, as you promised?” 

“Yes, I have even guarded against accidental con- 
flagration,” says Andrus. “Immediately after you left 
me last night I went up to the unoccupied apartment 
above your head. One of the bell-boys had picked up 
the key of 37. Some one, of course, had been in there 


28 


PHIL CONWAY. 


connecting the wires, and after arranging for your elec- 
trocution, had locked the door and hurriedly thrown 
away the key.’' 

“Humph, how did they get the key ? That’s the ques- 
tion !” remarks Conway tersely. 

“That I have not judged wise to inquire about too 
closely at the office. If we wish the affair to remain 
a secret, too many such questions might cause curiosity 
and comment. I left that matter for later investiga- 
tion,’’ answers Andrus. “The main facts are these: 
The electric wire, fortunately for the purpose of the 
person who perpetrated the crime, had been brought 
from the high-tension current in the basement for the 
use of that camera fiend Girton. From this wire the 
protecting insulation had been removed; then an ordi- 
nary number 12 insulated copper wire had been con- 
nected with it, run out of the window, which had been 
left slightly open, and dropped down the side of the 
air shaft ; but I think it must have been connected with 
your bird cage from your own bedroom.” 

“Why from my rooms ?” queries Conway very 
anxiously. 

“For this reason : I think the person who made the 
connection is, curiously, a woman,” replies Von 
Tschudi. 

“A woman?” gasps Phil. 

“Yes. A woman could hardly climb out of the 
window over yours and do a gymnastic feat in that 
open air-shaft that would puzzle a daring and trained 
athlete in order to reach the bird cage,” observes 
Andrus. 

“Still, the cage may have been reached from above 
in some way ; for instance, caught by a hook and pulled 
to the upper window,” asserts Phil, who for a 
moment has grown pallid at the suggestion that the 
work must have been completed from his room. “I 


PHIL CONWAY. 


29 


questioned Coventry this morning and no other woman 
but my affianced and her guardian, I think, could have 
entered my apartments yesterday. The ladies were 
here on a visit to me of an hour in connection with 
my coming wedding.” 

‘‘About what time?” asks the German. 

“From half past two to about half past three.” 

“Were you with them in your rooms the whole 
period ?” asks Andrus. 

“No,” remarks the American reluctantly. “I had 
let Coventry off for the afternoon as I intended to go 
to Lakewood, so I went down stairs myself to arrange 
for a little refreshment to be brought up for the ladies. 
I may have been absent for ten minutes.” Then he con- 
tinues almost angrily: “But these insinuations against 
my affianced I cannot permit.” 

“I am making none,” answers Von Tschudi. “I am 
simply asking questions which you yourself have asked 
to yourself. You have a logical, mathematical mind. 
Such a matter as this before us induces inquiry, and 
though you shrink from it, it is in your innermost soul. 
Why should you prevent anyone else following the 
same lines of thought?” 

“You are right,” replies Conway gloomily; then 
breaks out: “It is for these reasons I make you my 
confidant. My mind actuated by anxiety and love is 
not as calmly judicial as it should be,” adding 
anxiously : “But why do you think a woman had any- 
thing to do with this attempt at my murder ?” 

“For two reasons,” answers Von Tschudi. “First, a 
woman could go about here with much less chance of 
being watched or questioned than a man.” 

“Bosh, this is a bachelor apartment house !” 

“That is the reason a woman can go about it un- 
questioned,” grins the German. “A good many of the 
bachelors in it have lady visitors. You remember the 


30 


PHIL CONWAY. 


fire a few doors away from here at three o’clock one 
morning ? I happened to be in the street, and I glanced 
up. Half the windows in the ‘Mephisto’ were occu- 
pied by pretty feminine faces gazing at the conflagra- 
tion. Consequently, the clerks and bell-boys turn their 
heads away from a lady walking through the 
‘Mephisto’ corridors. A man would probably be asked 
to give his card and state whom he wanted to see, but 
a woman must not be asked inconvenient questions.” 

‘‘Yes,” replied Conway, “I presume you are right in 
this matter. I’ve noticed it myself. But what you 
state is merely inference.” 

“But here is a fact. My second reason for believing 
that the miscreant is a woman is because the insulation 
of the high tension wire had been removed by a pair 
of scissors,” answers the German acutely. “Man, 
for such a purpose, would most probably use a knife.” 

“A pair of scissors?” ejaculates Phil with a start. 
“How do you know that?” 

“Well, in hurriedly scratching away the hard rubber 
insulation of the wire a portion of the steel implement 
which did it had been broken off. I have it here. It is 
the little end of one of the blades of a pair of scissors. 
See !” He exhibits the article and Continues musingly : 
“Yet another thing goes to prove that it was a man.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Why the connection was made in a mechanical, tech- 
nical way that indicates a person familiar with electric- 
ity — a line repairer or telegraph operator; something 
of that sort. These are generally men, though not al- 
ways; some women are remarkably fine telegraph 
operators. Women have encroached upon men’s avo- 
cations in this modern age to such an extent that some 
of them a very good knowledge of mechanics have. 
However, the high-tension wire I disconnected and 
made its insulation complete. The No. 12 wire that 


PHIL CONWAY. 


31 


conducted death to the parrot’s cage I have put away 
for future reference. At this moment I think no one 
is aware of this crime except you and me and the per- 
son who perpetrated it, and who probably was some- 
what surprised at not reading a notice of your sudden 
demise in this morning’s papers.” 

During these last remarks the American is pacing 
the room restlessly, yet contemplatively, apparently in 
his mind some momentous consideration. He now says 
acutely : “The person making the attempt upon my life 
must have known of Girton’s high-tension wire. That 
should be some clue.” 

“Girton has photographed many pretty ladies,” 
laughs the German. 

“You still think it’s a woman?” asks Conway desper- 
ately. 

“Yes.” 

To this Phil does not answer, but a moment after he 
passes his hand over his brow, brushes away the hair 
from it impatiently and says shortly : “Something that 
has come to my notice this afternoon makes me re- 
solve to take you into my confidence. In this miserable 
affair I need the aid of a cooler brain than mine. But 
first you must promise to me absolute silence and se- 
crecy in this matter, for if my affianced heard what I 
shall reveal to you it might prevent her wedding me, 
and that would be the annihilation of every hope I have 
in life.” 

Gazing at Conway’s countenance, lighted up by that 
which gives the greatest beauty to youth — true love — 
Andrus answers simply: “Tell me all, and I swear to 
you that it shall be my secret as well as yours !” 

“Very well, here are cigars and tobacco; sit down 
and make yourself comfortable!” remarks the Amer- 
ican indicating a chair close to his writing table, “for 
my narrative will be a long one, as it is necessary to 


32 


^HIL CONWAY. 


give you the minute details of the curious, yet cruel, 
affair that now seems to rise up like the genius of mis- 
fortune between me and, God willing, my coming 
bride.’^ Then he ejaculates savagely: “Some devil is 
using it to separate us.” 

“How do you know that ?” asks. Von Tschudi. 

“How ? One of to-day’s evening papers proves it.” 
Conway hastily reads from the newspaper in front of 
him the following item : 

“It is rumored that the fashionable West Side marriage 
scheduled for Thursday between the beautiful Central Ameri- 
can belle and the young Wall Street banker and broker is 
postponed or broken off entirely. No reasons are given, but 
it is whispered that the tragic death of her father five years 
ago is in some way connected with the young lady’s sudden 
aversion to matrimony.” 

“Probably half a dozen other evening journals have 
similar articles,” breaks out the young man, adding, a 
kind of despair in his voice : “It is the beginning of the 
end!” 

Von Tschudi looks at him for a moment meditatively 
and says grimly : “Then there is something in her 
father’s death that might induce your affianced to dis- 
card you ; nay, more, to perhaps even think she had the 
right to murder you herself? That’s what produced 
your agitation when you saw those blond hairs about 
the electric wire! That’s why you last night wanted 
to stifle any investigation of the attempt to murder 
you !” 

To this the young banker, throwing himself into his 
chair at his writing table, utters a short, gasping groan 
and says sharply ; “Listen I” 


BOOK II. 

The American Engineer. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE LADY AT THE HOTEL WINDOW. 

“Have you ever been in a Central American capital 
when one of its usual bloodthirsty revolutions is in full 
blast?” asked Conway, gloomily. 

Then, answering his own question in the same breath, 
he continued : “Well, I have ; in Guatemala City. Bar- 
rios — not the great J. Rufino Barrios killed at Chal- 
chuapa in 1885— but his nephew, the younger Barrios, 
Reyna — for this was in September, ’97 — ^had just de- 
clared himself President, which means Dictator, for 
life, and his rival. General Prospero Morales, the mag- 
nate of Champerico, had taken up arms against him 
and, aided by Bowen, the American, was besieging 
Quezeltenango and threatened San Jose, the seaport. 

“Barrios, to oppose his rival, had not only sent his 
troops against him in the field, but was now dominat- 
ing the capital by arresting all prominent men suspected 
of sympathy with the ‘insurgents,’ as he called them, 
and, with true Spanish bloodthirstiness, shooting some, 
banishing or imprisoning others, and pursuing with im- 
placable vengeance the wives and offspring of all whom 
he thought inimical or even lukewarm to his cause. 

“It felt curious to stroll about that pretty city, called 


33 


34 


PHIL CONWAY. 


by all Central Americans Tequena Paria’ (Little 
Paris) — and they are not so far out in the term, as 
it has electric lights, opera, tram cars, policemen 
dressed up in the same uniform as New York’s ‘finest’ 
— and know I was living in a land of medieval military 
despotism. In the modern railroad station as I saw 
placards of Coney Island boats and modern New York 
Life Insurance advertisements, or read in the shop 
windows notices of up-to-date Yankee patent medicines 
— Ripans, Perry Davis’ Pain Killer, and other curing 
nostrums of American invention — it seemed to me un- 
real and uncanny that people without trial were being 
drawn up each morning before firing parties and 
quietly put out of the way, no one daring to say a 
word about it. 

“The way I got into this maelstrom of political 
excitement and military execution was simple. As you 
divined last night, I am a mining and civil engineer, 
and had spent the early years of my profession build- 
ing the railroad running from the capital city of 
Mexico to Tehuantepec, and thus had picked up a collo- 
quial knowledge of the Spanish language, and also of 
the manners and customs of the inhabitants of the Latin 
republics of America; for no business makes a man 
more intimate with the land in which he works than 
that of an engineer, especially when he is running 
reconnoissances and trial lines through forests and 
mountain paths, and taking pot luck, one day with 
peons and mozos and such cattle, in their Indian huts, 
and the next accepting the hospitality of the hidalgo at 
the hacienda of his big plantation. 

“Probably on account of my familiarity with Span- 
ish-American life, certain New York capitalists had, 
twelve months before my Guatemala experience, en- 
gaged me, for their own private information, to make 
a thorough examination of the proposed route of the 


PHIL CONWAY. 


35 


ship canal projected through Nicaragua to connect the 
Caribbean Sea and the Pacific Ocean. 

“Having pulled through a pretty stiff case of ma- 
larial ague picked up in the jungles of Tehuantepec, 
1 had thought myself well inured To the climate of 
the tropics, and had accepted the offer. I had jour- 
neyed to Greytown, from there conducting a personal 
survey of the San Juan and San Carlos rivers. In their 
pestilential and mosquito and reptile-haunted swamps 
I had caught the yellow fever of which last evening you 
reminded me, but recovering from this by the aid of a 
good constitution and temperate life, I had made the 
necessary examinations of Lakes Nicaragua and Man- 
agua. Having completed my work on the canal route 
and forwarded my report to the parties who had en- 
gaged me in New York, I had concluded to re- 
turn to the United States by the way of Guatemala, 
having been asked to make some inquiries and observa- 
tions upon the railroad projected from its capital city 
to Puerto Barrios. 

“Consequently I had left Realejo by one of the Pa- 
cific Mail boats and journeyed up the coast to San 
Jose. From there that curious little narrow-gauge 
railway had transported me by steep grades and switch- 
backs along the lower slopes of the great volcanoes 
Fuego and Agua to the beautiful mountain plateau on 
which the City of Guatemala sits, embowered in ever 
blossoming flowers, blessed with a climate that in a 
northern land would be called perpetual summer, and 
only cursed by the political ambitions and bloodthirsty 
unrest of its hidalgos ; for the Indian population only 
want to be permitted to work hard most of the time 
and enjoy their aguardiente and chicha on desta days. 

“All through this short seventy-five miles of railway 
the excitement of the people along the line, and the 
heavy guards of sometimes barefooted but generally 


3 ^ 


PHIL CONWAY. 


well armed and accoutred soldiers both at the seaport 
of San Jose, Escuintla and other stations along the 
route, indicated portentous military movement and 
tremendous political unrest. This, I soon discovered, 
was on account of the civil war that had just been in- 
augurated, and that I was entering a city under the 
heel of a military tyrant as irresponsible to the laws 
of humanity as any condottiere prince of Mantua or 
Milan in the Dark Ages. Yet here it was about me, 
judging by two orphaned children and a widow whose 
tears flowed unceasingly as she sat in front of me on 
the train and, to my attempted condolence, whispered 
that her dear husband, Don Rafael, had just been exe- 
cuted the day before, and she was going into the city 
to get his body if President Barrios would surrender 
it to her for burial. 

“However, travelling through electric-lighted streets 
by a modern tram car, I had taken up my headquarters 
at the Gran Hotel and proceeded about the business 
which had brought me to Guatemala, though I could 
see that the political unrest of the country threatened 
to delay, if not entirely prevent, the completion of the 
works I had been sent to examine. 

“The Gran Hotel was an excellent one, its cooking 
being, thank Heaven, European, and menu first-class ; 
I was quite comfortably and rapidly pursuing my rail- 
road investigation, when into the town one day came 
the news of the capture of Quezaltenango by the in- 
surgents. 

“This success of his enemies apparently drove Bar- 
rios to frenzy. Shutting himself up in his palace, 
guarded day and night by two hundred picked troops 
and aided by a band of spies and his chief of police, 
Francesco Castillo, he terrorized his capital by striking 
at some of the highest and most respected citizens of 
Guatemala. Men spoke of politics not at all ; women 


PHIL CONWAY. 


37 


shuddered at the thought that a careless word might 
bring destruction to their husbands, sons or loved 
ones; the prisons were so full that even numerous 
executions could not prevent their overflowing. 

“I had sometimes wondered how people felt under 
Robespierre and his sans-culottes in the great French 
Revolution; now I understood! Not that I, being 
a citizen of the United States, had any personal danger, 
though Bowen, the American, was doing such good 
work for the opposing party on the coast that his 
countrymen were by no means free from suspicion, and 
a couple of Yankee contractors had already been ar- 
rested at Puerto Barrios, on the coast, for smuggling 
arms in a cargo of hay; but the short black hair of 
Manuel, my ladino whom I had brought with me from 
Nicaragua, stood out from his head in such terror 
that his sombrero would hardly fit him, and the loqua- 
cious German proprietor of the Gran Hotel, whispered 
to me : ^Mein Himmel, keep a cautious tongue in your 
head, Herr Conway. General Barrios,’ he added under 
his breath, ‘is now suspicious of all Americanos since 
Bowen, the Yankee, has joined Morales and the revolu- 
tionists. You had better leave here 1’ 

“It’s astonishing, ever since Billy Walker, the great 
filibuster, came down there in the fifties with his 
few hundred Californians and waded through a whole 
Nicaraguan army, how Central Americans dread the 
Yankeeros, Though, threatened by any European 
power, they take refuge between the legs of the big 
dog ; as soon as British or German warships cease try- 
ing to persuade them by their guns to pay their foreign 
debts, how they turn upon La Republica del Norte and 
snarl at it and nip at it and dread annexation to it I 
“However, to my German landlord’s suggestion I 
answered shortly, ‘I’m here on railroad business, and 
I stay. I do not think even Barrios would dare put 


38 


PHIL CONWAY. 


his hands on the representative of some of the big New 
York bankers seeking investment in this country.’ 

“I stuck to my work. I had been hired to inspect and 
report upon the line of the new railway, and I did so, 
even journeying into the country as far as Reforma 
and the Mangua River, though this was dangerous 
from passing troops. 

“On my return from this trip, one evening I chanced 
to stroll into the Opera House, a pretty building of 
Greek architecture and white stucco, surrounded by a 
little park full of semi-tropical flowers, trees and shrubs. 
A little imagination and El Teatro Nacional de Guate- 
mala might be an ancient Athenian temple of the drama 
in its classic grove. But its electric lights, which 
illuminated not only the building but the park about it, 
made it modern, though these were contradicted by the 
sentries patrolling the square, which lent to the scene 
the stern features of medieval despotism. 

“Notwithstanding the gloom that hung over the 
city, the electric lights burned as brilliantly as if peace 
was upon the land; the tram cars rattled along as 
rapidly, and the theatre was as well attended by an 
audience full of that curious vivacity which death and 
bloodshed always seem to increase in the Spanish 
race. The young ricos, in their Prince Albert coats, 
which gave a New York matinee effect to the parquet, 
though it’s the usual evening costume in Guatemala, 
smoked their cigarettes as pleasantly between the acts, 
and perhaps laughed even more boisterously than they 
would have in happier days ; tyrants distrust faces that 
are not pleasant; and to be distrusted meant perhaps 
execution. The ladies — and there are many beautiful 
ones in Guatemala City — looked as lovely in their 
Parisian robes de bal as they sat in the boxes, as if 
danger and death were not about everyone who was 
suspected. The performance v;as a very passable one 


PHIL CONWAY. 


39 


by an Italian company. The music of the charming 
opera was very pleasing to me, who had been divorced 
for two years in Nicaragua from nearly all such de- 
lights, Leon and Grenada being half barbarous villages 
compared with the great City of Guatemala. Between 
the acts in Central America everyone goes out into 
the foyer, most of the ladies leaving their boxes. 

I strolled out with the rest into the corridors, and lit 
an Havana cigar to smother the universal cigarette 
fumes about me. Then, some one remarked : ‘Caspita, 
behold our own little Lucia! May she have a better 
fate than the heroine of the opera,’ and my attention' 
was called to a very beautiful young girl just on the 
border line of childhood and maidenhood, who, at- 
tended by a lady of about twenty-five, passed near me. 

“Having placed my glances on the maid, I could 
not keep them from her, the child being such a re- 
markable Spanish blonde, one of those rare types of 
purest Castilian beauty. Her eyes were blue as violets 
and her complexion dazzling as ivory, though 
blushes of modesty made her cheeks roses. Her figure 
was as graceful as a sylph’s, though it was yet by no 
means developed, and she was still dressed as a child. 
Turning to a friend — for I having had good letters of 
introduction, had already made some acquaintances 
among the fashionables of the city — I asked him who 
she was. 

“ ‘Why, that is Doha Lucia Estrella de la Luz, the 
little daughter of General Don Diego Morazan,’ an- 
swered young Estudillo between whiffs of his cigar- 
ette, ‘and the lady accompanying her it is rumored is 
soon to become her new mother ; at present she is her 
governante. For Dios, Old Seventy is about to marry 
again,’ he jeered. 

“ ‘Oh, December w^ds Midsummer 1’ I smiled. 

“ ‘Yes,’ replied my companion, ‘Midsummer was en- 


46 


PHIL CONWAY. 


gaged to take charge of his daughter by tlie widowed 
General. Midsummer is a very smart young woman. 
German, I believe. Her maiden name is Fraulein Sofia 
Whenclause. She originally came to this country as 
an employe of the Government. The General saw her ; 
discovered that Fraulein Sofia had many accomplish- 
ments, spoke English, French and German, and was 
just the person to superintend the education of his little 
girl. Dona Lucia. Perhaps even then the General had 
an eye to the rather magnificent charms of the lady he 
was adding to his establishment; at all events, the 
rumor is now that she will marry old Don Diego!’ 
giggled Estudillo. 

'‘As the curtain went up again I returned to my seat 
in the parquet, and, despite the charms of the prima 
donna on the stage, could not keep my eyes off the 
pretty girl. Dona Lucia seemed quite young; but 
under the hot sun of the tropics the child very soon 
becomes the woman; and already the maiden had, I 
noticed, as I inspected her in her box, a budding charm 
of manner, a nascent grace of figure and a dazzling 
vivacity of expression which must very shortly make 
her extremely lovely. She seemed most modest and 
retiring, keeping well at the back of the loge, perhaps 
by the instruction of her governante who sat much 
more to the front, only occasionally casting the eye 
of a duenna upon her charge. Attired in a plain, 
dark velvet evening gown which, cut in Parisian 
fashion, displayed extremely fine arms, magnificent 
shoulders, and bust of dazzling whiteness, from her 
appearance Fraulein Whenclause was more of the 
Viennese than North German type, having dark hair 
and brown, lustrous eyes. These, at times, she turned 
loose on the gentlemen in the parquet in a way that 
showed she would not be averse to masculine atten- 
tions ; but her manner grew most modestly subdued as 


PHIL CONWAY. 


41 


an old gentleman of close-cropped snowy hair and with 
long grizzled waxed mustachios, took his place beside 
her, looking the picture of the military hidalgo. 

“From some whispered words near me I discovered 
that he was General Don Diego Morazan, the father 
of the maiden; also that apparently Don Diego was 
well in favor with the Government of Barrios, for 
Madame la Presidenta greeted him with a most affa- 
ble smile from her official box where she sat attended 
by her ladies, all of whom, from their submissive at- 
tention to her slightest glance, seemed to regard her 
more as their autocrat and queen than the wife of the 
plain head of a Republic. The Dictator himself was 
not present; probably engaged, it was thought, on 
military affairs ; for no one guessed the awful business 
which that night occupied the tyrant of Guatemala. 

“At the end of the performance, with the rest of 
the audience I left the theatre, casting a parting glance 
at the beautiful child as her father carefully placed 
an opera cloak over her delicate shoulders, and by his 
manner showed that, though he might wed again, he 
was still the doting parent. 

“Chancing to get alongside of young Estudillo, who 
had thrown a serapa over his Prince Albert coat and 
looked semi-f>arbaric under the lights of the square, 
as we walked along, I learned from his conversation 
that Don Diego Morazan was a representative of one 
of the oldest families in Central America, having in 
him some of the blood of Francesco Morazan, El Li- 
bertadoTj the great patriot and general of sixty years 
ago ; that Don Diego himself had fought Rafael Car- 
rera, the Indian President, at Coatepeque, and had in 
his later manhood been the friend of the elder Barrios. 

“But after that I thought little more of General Don 
Diego, for the next day there came upon the capital, 
like a thunder clap of a tropical storm, the news of 


42 


PHIL CONWAY. 


the murder of Don Juan Aparico, the richest and fore- 
most citizen of Guatemala ; the head of the great mer- 
cantile house of J. Aparico & Co., of New York, known 
over the whole world; a man who had never engaged 
in politics but had simply devoted his energies to the 
building up of the railroad and trade interests of his, 
country. He had been murdered by the orders of 
Barrios, because he refused to the Dictator, who was 
his own nephew by marriage, a forced loan of a million 
dollars. The first whispered news of this assassination 
fell upon Guatemala City as a shock. Afterwards the 
horror grew more sickening and the gloom grew 
greater, for it was whispered that the unfortunate old 
gentleman had been not merely executed, but had been 
tortured to death ; and the faces of some of his trusted 
employes indicated that at the first opportunity a 
bloody reprisal would be made for the taking off of 
the best loved man in the whole country. 

'‘This assassination closed my business in Guatemala. 
Foreign capitalists, already grown timid, the moment 
the news was flashed over the world of the death of 
Aparico, immediately withdrew from any contemplated 
investments in the unfortunate country. The conse- 
quence was that I received a day or two afterwards 
a telegram from New York directing me to discon- 
tinue my investigations with regard to the new railroad, 
and found myself, for the first time in a number of 
years, a man of leisure. I was already anxious to leave 
a country in which human life and human liberty were 
at the mercy of a bloodthirsty young dictator. I re- 
membered, if my memory was correct, having seen 
him, a dark, mustached, handsome fellow, in the opera 
box of his aunt, the widow of the great Barrios, in 
New York early in the nineties, talking to the two 
beautiful nieces of the old gentleman he had just as- 
sassinated, whose white head and dignified bearing had 


PHIL CONWAY. 


43 


made him noticeable even among the throng of fashion- 
ables in the parterre boxes of the magnificent Metro- 
politan, as he listened to the De Reszkes and Emma 
Eames in ‘Romeo and Juliet.’ I could not help thinking 
of this young miscreant going out to supper with his 
relatives from that great Opera House and sitting be- 
side his cousins at Sherry’s or Delmonico’s, chatting 
in nephew’s tones with his poor old uncle, whom now 
he had put to" death by methods equivalent to those 
employed in the torture chamber of the Venetian 
Council of Ten. 

“Filled with horror, I determined to leave this 
country, intending to journey across the mountains via 
Coban and Panzos, and from there by the beautiful Rio 
Duke, voyage to Livingston on the Caribbean, where 
I could take one of the American Line of steamers to 
New Orleans. 

“For this purpose it was necessary to obtain a pass- 
port. On applying for it at the Government Building 
I was referred to the gentleman whom I had noted 
in the theatre as the father of the beautiful child. 
On learning my errand Don Diego said shortly: T 
think you are wise to leave this disturbed land,’ and, 
after the necessary inquiries, he issued the passport 
to me, remarking: T wish you a safe journey, senor;’ 
muttering, with a sigh : ‘Would that I could take 
myself and my loved one to your more tranquil coun- 
try ; but at present my duty is here.’ 

“The next day, accompanied by my faithful young 
ladino, Manuel, who muttered, though he was miiy 
bravo, he was very glad to get out of the place, I left 
Guatemala on muleback. Turning almost due north, 
we journeyed, it being the rainy season, through the 
knee-deep mud of San Antonio and across the dizzy 
mountain pass that overlooks the Rio de las Vacas; 
then over a plateau to the important Indian town of 


44 


PHIL CONWAY. 


Salama ; from there we gradually descended into 
the magnificent coffee country of the Alta Verapaz, 
till some five days after leaving the City of Guatemala 
we placed our eyes on Coban. Its white houses, bow- 
ered in flowering gardens, looked in the distance like a 
New England town, but on approaching became the 
usual whitewashed adobe Indian architecture of the 
country, only larger and more pretentious, for the place 
has a population of about twenty thousand, mostly 
Quiche aboriginals, though these are leavened by 
quite a numerous half-breed and Spanish population, 
and a good many of the business men of the place are 
Germans. 

“Here we soon drew up in front of the Hotel Ale- 
man, a whitewashed adobe building of one story, of 
considerable extent, kept by a very hospitable German 
lady. A bright sunshiny garden full of roses, violets 
and perennial tropical flowers stood in front of it ; and 
its beds having the luxury of clean white sheets and 
its table being good, the hostelry was decidedly pleas- 
ant to one who had spent five days upon mule back on 
the mountain roads, struggling with insects by night 
in the cabildas of Indian villages and living by day 
upon the unchanging fare of the country — eternal fried 
eggs, frijoles, tortillas and bad coffee. 

“Two days after, as I was about to depart from 
Coban for the coast, I was attacked with one of my 
souvenirs of the yellow fever, a recurrence of the ma- 
larial ague I had experienced in Mexico, and 
passed, notwithstanding the good care of my German 
landlady, a very bad week. I had only partially re- 
covered from this when, to my delight, one morning 
as I lay in my bed I heard an American voice in the 
sala of the hotel. My bedroom was within easy hail, 
and I cried enthusiastically: Thank God, I hear an 
American voice.’ 


PHIL CONWAY. 


45 


'' ‘Thank God, I hear one too,’ was echoed in hearty 
reply, ‘and thank God that it belongs to my friend, 
Conway !’ 

“As he spoke, a young American entered my sick 
chamber and I was too weak to do more than gasp in 
astonishment: ‘Charlie Bellinger!’ 

“ ‘Yes, I just heard about you, old man, yesterday 
at my coffee ranch, ten miles from here; so I came 
down at once. We must get you out of this sizzling 
hole and up in the mountains to my place immediately. 
I’ve a plantation magnifico at Chobal, a few leagues 
to the north. No excuses, my boy, I will have you on 
muleback in half an hour, and in two hours more you 
will breathe air that would make an athlete of a para- 
lytic. You’ve got to come. I’ve not spoken English 
for three months, and now I am going to talk you blind. 
I’ve an American darky cook from West Virginia and 
can feed you civilized. How’s that for high 1’ 

“It was impossible to refuse such hospitality. Bel- 
linger had been in the coffee business in Southern 
Mexico when I had been railroading in that country. 
My former intercourse with Charlie had been very 
pleasant and we had been comrades for half a year in 
Tehuantepec. Consequently, accompanied by Manuel, 
I soon got under way from Coban, and spent with the 
young American four months on his magnficent plan- 
tation ten miles north of the city. I had nothing to 
do but to get well. No business cares were on my 
mind, and I indulged in a dolce far niente until well 
into the dry season. 

“During this I grew strong again, living a sporting 
life with the young American, for Charlie had plenty 
of time on his hands, and most of this we spent, shoot- 
ing partridges in the thickets and ducks, snipe and 
water fowl on the river banks, at times hunting deer, 
tiger cats and an occasional jaguar found in the tropic 


46 


PHIL CONWAY. 


mountain glens of this beautiful country, Alta Vera- 
paz, appropriately called, ‘High, perfect peace.’ We 
had American bread, and a darky cook of rare excel- 
lence, who did the wood ducks, iguanas and game in 
true Maryland style. In the evening we played cards, 
read the American papers forwarded from New York. 
Occasionally we mounted our mules and jogged into 
Coban to see my friend, the German landlady of the 
hotel, or have a pleasant chat with Charlie’s amigo, the 
Jefe Politico of the place, Don Pedro Zaparto, who 
gave us the last news from Guatemala City, which in- 
dicated that Barrios had entirely suppressed the revo- 
lution, making a sort of compromise with his rival, 
Prospero Morales, who had become Vice-President 
under the arrangement. Sometimes we would vary 
this by watching the national sport of the country, a 
cock-fight. 

“One day, Charlie being occupied in superintending 
some necessary work on his plantation, I grew tired of 
gazing at the moso girls cleansing the red coffee beans 
from the pulp and rode in alone to spend a pleasant 
half hour in Coban watching the picturesque Indian 
woman in the Plasa Major, selling meats, fruits, vege- 
tables and the various wares of the country. 

“Buying from a Quinche nymph a handful of cigar- 
ros for a cuartillo, I passed a few brief minutes in- 
specting the chattering crowd of hucksters and their 
customers, for on market days the greats square of Co- 
ban is a very animated place. Roused from this by the 
music of a military band, I watched a couple of bare- 
footed battalions of Barrios’ troops go through their 
maneuvers, and the parade being over I strolled into 
the Government Building to have a chat with old Don 
Pedro, the Jefe Politico and big man of the town, find- 
ing him, as usual, officially unoccupied. In our. con- 
versation, in speaking of my stay in the City of Guate- 


PHIL CONWAY. 


47 


mala, I chanced to mention General Morazan and his 
charming daughter. 

Oh yes, answered the official, ‘Don Diego is well 
known to all in this country. He is miiy bravo, as an\ 
descendant of the Lihertador must be. He was a 
trusted friend and coadjutator of the great Rufina Bar- 
rios. That keeps him safe.’ 

“ ‘Keeps him safe!’ I ejaculated. 

“ ‘Yes; for it has been hinted that, were it not that 
Morazan loves the very name of Barrios, his political 
views are more that of the other party. The General 
himself, I think, guesses that if anything happens to 
our President, Cabrera, who is the next in power in 
the party, may make things unpleasant for him. Acting 
upon that I believe that he has placed a large portion of 
his property in funds in New York or Paris. You 
see he wishes to make provision for his little daughter 
should fate be unkind to him.’ 

“Sighing at the thought of what might befall the 
pretty child in case her father came under the political 
axe, and the clock in the big tower of the Casa Muni- 
cipal sounding three, I bade adieu to the hospitable 
Don Pedro, the gossiping old official whispering cau- 
tiously : ‘Forget what Pve said about Morazan,’ and 
turned my footsteps towards the Hotel Aleman for my 
dinner. 

“Doing this, I chanced to approach the hostelry at 
its rear, and casually glancing up, I saw, through one 
of its most retired windows, the face of a woman 
looking from the open casement. The whole building 
is one story in height ; so the window was at no great 
distance from the ground; after the custom of the 
country, it had no glass in it, consequently my view of 
the lady was complete. 

“My first glance told me that she was from Yankee- 
land, though she was costumed somewhat after the 


48 


PHIL CONWAY. 


fashion of Spanish-America, wearing on her crown of 
Titian- tinted hair, secured by a comb, a black lace scarf, 
probably partly for the purpose of shielding her at- 
tractive face from general observation. Her features 
were Anglo-Saxon, and would have been extremely 
vivacious had they not been dominated by a melancholy 
which made her brown eyes pathetic. Her figure was 
in the first beauty of complete development, but her 
attitude was drooping. Her hand placed on the iron 
lattice of the window permitted a lace sleeve to fall 
away from an arm of exquisite proportions, so daz- 
zlingly white that her complexion must have been lilies 
and roses until bronzed by tropic travel. She was gaz- 
ing abstractedly at a couple of passing mozos de cargo 
who, bearing immense loads attached to their heads, 
were tramping down the street. Then her eyes, resting 
upon me as I passed, she started, with a movement of 
what seemed to me almost affright. This increased 
my interest in her. My glance had been by no means 
impertinent; my costume, despite Spanish spurs and 
serapaj indicated that I came from the United States, 
Why should the sight of a countryman bring consterna- 
tion rather than pleasure to the eyes of an American 
lady in Guatemala? 

“However, the chances of meeting a charming and 
interesting countrywoman making me eager, I stepped 
quite jauntily into the front entrance of the Hotel 
Aleman, cogitating: T shall meet Madame Incog- 
nita certainly in the dining room.’ But during a 
very good meal, though I kept my eyes very wide open 
for the appearance of the lady who had excited my 
curiosity, I saw no one dining in the comedor save a 
couple of Spanish coffee planters and a German agent 
for a European exporting house. Dusty trails 
making travelling unpleasant, there were no other 
guests at the table of the Hotel Aleman this day ; and 


PHIL CONWAY. 


49 


I played with my fruit, drank my coffee and lighted 
my cigar, a feeling of disappointment and chagrin upon 
me. 

“ ^Hang it,’ I muttered to myself, ^my glance was 
not so ardent that she should lose her dinner to avoid 
meeting such a modest Don Juan as I am.’ 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE WIFE OF THE REFUGEE. 

‘‘But at the close of the meal I was agreeably sur- 
prised by the German landlady coming to me, leading 
me into the sala, and, in her good-hearted way, asking 
me a favor. TIerr Conway,’ she began, ‘you have 
gained health by the blessing of God and the friendship 
of your friend, young Bellinger, at his plantation up 
in the mountains. I want you to aid another unfor- 
tunate to regain his health also. This hot town is no 
place for a man as sick as he; but his wife can tell 
the story of the American gentleman and make a re- 
quest better than I can.’ 

“ ‘An American and his wife here ! They were not 
at the dinner table,’ I said eagerly, though somewhat 
disappointed at the term wife. 

“ ‘Yes, they have been here with me for nearly a 
week ; he is too sick a man to go into the dining 
room, and she takes her meals with him. But I will in- 
troduce you.’ 

“She left the room. A moment later she returned 
accompanied by the object of my interest and said: 
‘Madame Webster, I present to you Herr Conway,’ 
and I stood bowing before a woman whose appearance 
would have interested me even on Fifth Avenue, but 
doubly so in far-away Guatemala. 

“Scarce waiting for my salutation, Mrs. Webster, 
drawing aside a lace mantilla that shaded h*er face, 
though it could not dim the brightness of her handsome 
eyes, addressed me eagerly and pleadingly: ‘I would 
speak on behalf of my husband to you, sir. Mr. Web- 


50 


PHIL CONWAY. 


51 

ster and I are traveling in this country, he being anx- 
ious to purchase a coffee plantation. Being unacclimat- 
ed, he has been struck down by a fever he picked up on 
the coast at Izabal or Livingston. When we reached 
here his condition became such that he could travel no 
farther, and I fear if I cannot get him out of this hot, 
sweltering town he will die and leave me here — alone 
in a foreign land.’ Tears welled up in the bright eyes, 
but, stifling them, she continued : ‘Our kind-hearted 
landlady has spoken to me about your friend’s beau- 
tiful plantation and told me that there you re- 
gained health among its mountain breezes. Could you 
not interest your friend, Mr. Bellinger, sufficiently for 
him to permit us to live there until my husband has 
thrown off the fever? We will give him no trouble; 
we are amply able to pay for any hospitality he may 
extend to us ; all we wish, my husband and I, is retire- 
ment and a chance for him to regain his health. I make 
this appeal as an Ariierican woman in distress to a com- 
patriot, who, I feel sure, will aid her in her extremity. 
You’ll not say me nay, will you, Mr. Conway? I’m — 
I’m not accustomed to be refused.’ This last portion 
of her speech was emphasized by a half tearful glance 
which, though absolutely uncoquettish, indicated that 
before trouble came upon her, Mrs. Webster must have 
been extremely lighthearted and vivacious. 

“ T can already speak for my friend,’ said I eagerly. 
Tf you and your husband will accept his hospitality, I 
feel that I can offer it to you; in fact, I know that 
Charlie Bellinger would not forgive me if I permitted 
a lady, situated as you are, to have a moment’s doubt 
of what his answer would be. Take me to your 
husband, Mrs. Webster, and I will see him and make 
every arrangement for transferring him as easily as 
possible to a climate that has given me health and re- 
newed my vigor of body,’ 


PHIL CONWAY. 


S2 

“ ‘God bless you !’ answered the lady in enthusiastic 
gratitude. ‘Ro — Roger will thank you also/ and led 
me through the plants of the patio to a retired portion 
of the hotel, where, in a pleasant but bare room her 
husband was lying upon a bed. 

“ ‘We put him as far away from the noise and from 
people who troubled him as possible,’ said the land- 
lady, as the invalid extended to my greeting an attenu- 
ated hand. 

“Looking upon Roger Webster, I knew I was gazing 
upon a very sick man, both mentally and physically, 
for his eyes were haggard by what seemed to me not 
only the ravages of the fever, but by some latent anx- 
iety or trouble, perhaps that he would die .and leave 
his young wife alone and unprotected in this half civ- 
ilized land. He had a strong aquiline face, which must 
have been exceedingly handsome before the fever had 
made it pallid and contracted, and sharpened his fea- 
tures. He was much older than his wife, being at least 
forty; but his manner was strangely winning and his 
voice very tender as he whispered : ‘God bless you, 
Alice; you are always thinking of me.’ 

“A moment’s examination told me that Webster could 
not ride a mule. Therefore I went oif, found Man- 
uel, my man servant, and under his guidance, proceeded 
to make the proper arrangements. Half an hour after 
the invalid, seated in a chair strapped to the back of an 
athletic mozo de cargo, left the hotel, followed by his 
wife and me on muleback, a few half naked Indians, 
under the command of Manuel, bringing up the rear 
and carrying the baggage of the Americans, which, 
fortunately, was not very extensive. Her semi-Spanish 
riding habit was exceedingly becoming to Mrs. Web- 
ster, and as she extended to me a small and perfectly 
booted foot, that I might assist her into the side saddle, 
on which she had travelled from Panzos, I admired 


t>HIL CONWAY. 


53 


a figure that seemed that of Diana herself. ^ In half an 
hour I discovered that Diana rode like an Amazon ; for 
the air, growing fresher and her husband’s spirits be- 
coming brighter, she permitted her mule to prance reck- 
lessly up the steep mountain path, with so much ap- 
parent enjoyment that I suggested: 'You must have 
been accustomed to cross-country riding?’ 

“ ‘What makes you think that ?’ she asked hurriedly. 

“ ‘Ah, you have the true Cedarhurst-Hempstead 
seat,’ I laughed. 

“At this the flush of excitement left the lady’s cheeks, 
and she turned back to speak some words of encourage- 
ment to her husband. As I gazed after her I noted that 
her Titian hair banded about her well proportioned 
head in lustrous tresses had been dyed; increased in- 
terest entered me, for in my mind arose a dim thought 
that I had seen my charming companion before. Her 
hair had been brown then. I had not known her per- 
sonally or, of course, I would have remembered such 
a distinguished woman ; but some trick of her eyes that, 
stimulated by the cool mountain air, had grown more 
vivacious, had left its imprint in the past upon my 
brain. 

“Unabie to recall her, I tried to recollect her husband, 
but found this absolutely impossible; the few words 
that he spoke from the back of his mozo during the 
journey, however, indicated that Webster was a man of 
the world, of considerable education and travel. The 
conversation of his wife, which now became more ani- 
mated and perhaps more frank, as we reached the beau- 
tiful scenery of the higher plateau, indicated that she 
was as much at home in a drawing room as at a meet 
of the hounds, but gave me no clue to anything else 
about her. This problem was still unsolved in my 
mind as we reached my friend’s plantation. Here 
Charlie opened his eyes in admiration as he saw his 


54 


PHIL CONWAY. 


new visitors. Gazing eagerly upon the beautiful Mrs. 
Webster, as I told my story, he became enthusiastic in 
his proffers of hospitality. 

“Her husband had no sooner been made comfortable 
than the lady getting Charlie and myself aside on the 
great palm shaded veranda, said : ‘You will pardon me 
asking you another favor, gentlemen; but I see you 
have on your table some of the New York papers, 
would you kindly refrain from discussing American 
news before my husband and keep these journals from 
his eyes ; in his present weak state he grows homesick 
at any mention of his distant country.^ 

“ ‘You may rely on me,’ I answered simply. 

“ ‘You can cut out my tongue, if it pleases you,’ re- 
plied Charlie more ardently. 

“A few days after Alice Webster could have had not 
only Bellinger’s plantation, but also, I think, his life, 
if she had cared for it, for I never saw a more intense 
infatuation than that with which, despite herself, la 
belle Americane inoculated the dashing young coffee 
planter. 

“This was not curious, as the lady’s beauty seemed to 
grow with every rustle of the breezes that were bring- 
ing her husband back to health. With her spouse’s 
convalescence came at times a buoyancy of spirit and 
a delightful piquancy of manner, the only charm 
needed to make her entirely fascinating. In this rather 
difficile situation no woman could have conducted her- 
self with more tactful propriety and yet more charming 
grace than Bellinger’s lovely guest. Anxious to show 
her gratitude, she threw herself into our rural life, 
adding brilliant music and vivacious conversation to 
our plain bachelor’s household, and accepting with 
an unaffected ease which disarmed passion the atten- 
tions of Charlie and myself on long rides over the 
mountains and almost daily excursions into the pictur- 


PHIL CONWAY. 


55 


esque valleys of Alta Verapaz; her husband, though re- 
covered sufficiently to lounge in a hammock on the 
veranda, being not as yet able to endure muleback ex- 
ercise. 

“On one of these when alone with us she once 
mentioned America, but then only passingly. While 
riding near the banks of a stream which was one of 
the headwaters of the Polochic River, I picked one of 
those beautiful crimson orchids that lend such bril- 
liancy to the green of a tropic forest, and gave it to her. 

“As she placed the beautiful flower in the bosom of 
her riding habit, Charlie, who seemed to have grown 
jealous even of me, broke out laughingly: ‘Beware of 
him, Mrs. Webster ; he’s in love with little Dona Lucia 
Morazan.’ 

“ ‘Little Dona Lucia Morazan,’ said Alice, and asked, 
a slight interest in her voice, ‘who is she ?’ 

“ ‘Oh, she’s the young lady this ardent Conway hasn’t 
even spoken to, but saw at the opera in Guatemala City. 
Before you came he could talk of no one else. The 
child must have flirted with him atrociously from her 
box in the Teatro Nacional ; yet she’s only a flopper in 
short dresses, and under a tight governess.’ 

“ ‘In short dresses,’ smiled Mrs. Webster ; ‘that may 
add to her fascination. One of my intimates in New 
York was a widow who kept her grown up daughters 
en ailette, but they looked so charming in their nursery 
frocks that two of the suitors of the widow transferred 
their affections from mamma and married the daugh- 
ters.’ 

“ ‘Ho, ho ; regular nursery weddings !’ jeered Charlie. 

“ ‘Yes, I was present at both ceremonies myself,’ 

laughed Mrs. Webster. ‘Mrs. (she mentioned 

the name of a lady so extremely prominent in New 
York society that I shall not repeat it) ‘was an intimate 
of mine.’ 


56 


PHIL CONWAY. 


'Yes, on Fifth Avenue, I have often seen the widow 
who would not grow old,’ I assented. 

"'Why, I thought you came from Chicago!’ ejacu- 
lated our companion. 

" 'No, I come from the Windy City,’ said Charlie ; 
'but Conway hails from New York, though he hasn’t 
seen very much of it in the last few years.’ 

"To this, the lady made no reply, being occupied in 
urging her mule up a steep trail leading from the river 
bank. After that Alice Webster never mentioned the 
sidelights of New York society. 

"This was not curious, as her husband about this time 
grew so much better that he could take part in our 
rambles. I was glad of this ; it removed a growing em- 
barrassment from Mrs. Webster — her host’s passion 
for her was growing so fervid he might some day make 
a fool of himself. However, we had plenty to discuss 
about this time, for returning one afternoon from Co- 
ban, I brought the tremendous news that Don Reyna 
Barrios, President of Guatemala, had been shot on 
the public street in the midst of his troops by a young 
German, Oscar Solinger, who had been a friend and 
trusted employee of Aparico, whom the tyrant had 
tortured to death but four months before. 'Guatemala 
City is in a panic,’ I announced. 'Dr. Manuel Estrada 
Cabrera is now head of the government. To make his 
power certain, it is reported that he has just had Gene- 
ral Marroquin, the commandant of the garrison, and 
other adherents of Prospero Morales, killed.’ 

" 'Humph, how about your friend Morazan ?’ asked 
Charlie. 

" 'Oh, he’s all right, I imagine,’ I answered ; 'Cabrera 
is one of the Barrios party.’ Then I remembered the 
remarks of the Jefe Politico, and was not quite so sure. 

" 'I hope there’s no danger to the pretty child who 
attracted you in the theater, little Doha Lucia,’ said 


PHIL CONWAY. 


§7 


Alice, her eyes full of kindly sympathy. Her tender 
heart was one of Mrs. Webster’s greatest charms; to 
me she never looked more beautiful than when display- 
ing her touching devotion to her husband. She was 
radiant the first day he was able to mount a mule and 
ride beside her, yet even then a latent melancholy ap- 
peared to make her big eyes pathetic. 

“Perhaps this was because Webster, though partially 
convalescent from the fever, had still traces on his face 
of anxiety, though his conversation about this time be- 
came cheerful and that of a man anxious to engage 
in business again, judged from his pertinent in- 
quiries in regard to the value of coffee plantations and 
the mode of raising crops in this part of the country. 

“As Webster’s health grew better he and his wife 
soon formed the habit of wandering off together upon 
country excursions and spending their days by them- 
selves, much to Charlie’s discontent, who was now 
compelled by the exigencies of getting his crop to mar- 
ket to remain pretty constantly upon his plantation. 
During his labors I generally accompanied him, being 
very well aware that the greatest kindness I could do 
Mr. and Mrs. Webster was to leave them to the con- 
jugal tete a fetes that they loved. 

“They had mounted their mules to take a long trip 
by themselves, and were not expected back until even- 
ing, when one day along the steep, dizzy and almost 
unused mountain trail that leads by way of Chescal 
from Panzos (the head of navigation of the Polochic 
River), there chanced to come, to Charlie’s and my 
astonishment, another American. He was an attache 
of the United States Consul at Livingston, and was 
quite well known to Bellinger, who shipped his coffee 
from this port. 

“Gazing upon the thin bodied creature, whose jaun- 
diced face told of continued residence in the tropics. 


53 


PHIL CONWAY. 


as he rode up on his mule, plastered with the dust of 
the trail, Charlie ejaculated: ‘Bully! N^ow, Johnny 
Sands, you’ve got to stay with us a week or two. Now 
we’ll have enough for a good game of poker.’ With 
that he introduced us. 

“ ‘I like a good game of poker,’ said Mr. Johnny 
Sands cheerfully; ‘but I’ve other game on my hands. 
I’m here on business ! You know, I am pretty well ac- 
quainted with the inhabitants of this part of the coun- 
try, and I’ve been sent up here by way of Panzos with 
Mr. Reuben Bostwick, a detective.’ 

“ ‘A what?’ I cried. 

“ ‘A thief catcher from the United States, Mr. Con- 
way !’ 

“ ‘Oho, a genuine Sherlock Holmes, a Captain 
Byrnes or a Maitre VidoCq 1 What the devil is he doing 
here?’ queried Charlie. 

“ ‘Why Bostwick has just run down all the way from 
New York, in pursuit of a fugitive from justice. He’s 
a little skittish about his mule ; but here he comes down 
the canon now,’ and the Consul’s attache waved his 
hand to a stout, strongly built individual who appeared 
to be very unhappy on muleback, as his rather raw- 
boned quadruped struck an ambling jog trot through 
the knee-deep dry-season dust. ‘Here’s Mr. Bellinger 
and Mr. Conway,’ said Sands, ‘and they will give you 
any information that’s possible, I imagine.’ 

“ ‘Well, gents, it won’t take me long to ask you the 
few questions I want to,’ remarked Bostwick, taking 
a chew of tobacco to aid him in his conversation ; ‘I’ve 
got papers asking for the extradition by the President 
of Guatemala, and return to American justice, of 
Roderick Saxon. . Perhaps you’ve read of him in the 
New York papers. The big club swell and social high 
roller, who was a trustee of the estates of widows and 
orphans, and who did them out of a few millions and 


i 


PHIL CONWAY. 


59 


then took French leave. I sleuthed him to New Or- 
leans, next to Belize, and then to Livingston, and there 
lost him. But there’s about only one way for him to 
go, and that’s up in this direction, because I have dis- 
covered that he didn’t leave Izabal by the other route 
for Guatemala City.’ 

“‘You mean that scrub, Roderick Saxon? We’ve 
read about him,’ said Charlie shortly. 

“ ‘Yes. He’s a man of five feet ten, grey eyes, Roman 
nose and weighs one hundred and eighty pounds. He 
won’t be so very difficult to spot, for he foolishly 
brought his wife with him, and an American girl in 
this part of the world is rather conspicuous. Her 
maiden name was Miss Actia Alice Haswell, the niece 
of Cartwright Haswell, the great New York banker. 
Lord, every fashionable journal had her picture as 
Queen of the Four Hundred when she married 
her Fifth Avenue millionaire, Saxon, six years ago.’ 

“As the man spoke I remembered Actia Alice Has- 
well. She had been pointed out to me when she was 
the reigning belle and beauty of the New York season 
a few years ago, as she had sat in her parterre box at 
the Metropolitan Opera House, surrounded by dudes 
and gallants, and the papers had printed columns of the 
great match she was going to make with the very fash- 
ionable yet thoroughly business millionaire, Roderick 
Amherst Saxon. As recollection came upon me I knew 
where I had seen Alice Webster before, and grew pale 
as I divined. I thought of her agony when this de- 
voted wife would see her husband handcuffed and 
dragged away as a felon. 

“Bellinger had not paid much attention to the descrip- 
tion. Saxon weighed one hundred and eighty pounds ; 
the fever had made ¥/ebster scarce one hundred and 
forty. Saxon was five feet ten in height; the fever 
, had bowed Webster to at least two inches less. 


6o 


PHIL CONWAY. 


“People have a good deal more presence of mind 
when others rather than themselves are in danger. So 
I said, with a laughing kind of jeer: 'You’d better 
brush the dust off and stay with us, Mr. Bostwick; 
we have an American, Mr. Webster and his wife, stay- 
ing with us. Wait and see them ; they’re gone off on a 
conjugal picnic to-day, but will be back by nightfall.’ 

“ ‘Shucks !’ laughed Charlie, ‘don’t let him make a 
fool of you, detective. Saxon weighs, according to 
you, one hundred and eighty, and is five feet ten high ; 
Webster wouldn’t make the beam move at over one 
hundred and thirty-five, and is but five feet eight in 
his stockings. Come in with Sands and get a drink,’ 
and he turned toward the house. 

“ 'Well, this is kind of curious ; a Yankee and his wife 
down here in this part of the world,’ muttered the de- 
tective, springing off his mule and addressing himself 
sotto voce to me. 

“ ‘Not at all,” replied I. ‘My old friend Webster is 
buying a coffee plantation.’ 

“ ‘Oh, you say he’s your old friend?’ asked Bostwick 
disappointedly. 

“ ‘Why certainly ; 'Roger Webster was a big boy at 
school when I was a little one. You’d better remain 
until Webster returns; he and his wife will be home 
this evening. Perhaps they may be able to give you 
some hints about the people for whom you. are look- 
ing ; they may possibly have met them. One American 
and his wife would probably make the acquaintance of 
another American and his wife so far away from 
home.’ 

“ ‘No, I don’t think I’ll stop and question ’em,’ said 
Bostwick. ‘You say you have known Roger Webster 
since you were a boy ; therefore he cannot be the party 
I want, and Sands over there’ — he nodded toward the 
Consul’s attache, who was following Bellinger into the 


PHIL CONWAY. 


6l 


house to get his promised drink — ‘says that he reckons 
we’ll get word of our birds at Coban, which we have 
just time to make comfortably this evening. Sands 
also says that there are beds with sheets on ’em in the 
hotel there. I’m looking for sheets 1 I haven’t had a 
wink of sleep for four days, fighting ’squiters on the 
Polochic River and bats in the hammocks of Quiche 
huts along this Indian trail. That infernal mule has 
made me stiff and sore in every j’int. I’ll just step in, 
with your “permish,” and take a snifter to get the dust 
out of my throat, and we’ll get under way ag’in. If I git 
back to Yankee Doodle alive, no more Central Amer- 
ican round trips for yours truly.’ And Mr. Bostwick 
slouched into the house, dragging his weary legs toward 
the whiskey, which apparently he smelt from a great 
distance. A quarter of an hour afterward the two 
rode off down the trail toward Coban, Bostwick’s last 
despairing words as he grumblingly straddled his raw- 
boned, hard-gaited mule being: ‘Ain’t there a wagon 
road in the whole darned country?’ 

“At this Bellinger roared, apparently tl^’nking very 
little of their visit, except that they wouldn’t stay for a 
game of poker. 

“About two hours afterward Webster and his wife 
came in from their mountain excursion. Fatigued 
by his ride, the gentleman made his way to his 
chamber to prepare for dinner. Charlie and I were 
already in the dining room, and Mrs. Webster shortly 
came in to us, bearing a bunch of brilliant orchids in 
her hand. Dressed after the manner of the country, in 
evening dress, with lace mantilla thrown over her head, 
she looked more lovely than usual, for she seemed in 
better spirits. ‘These will make your table, Mr. Bel- 
linger, look a little more civilized,’ she smiled. 

“ ‘Well, we came very near having a larger party this 
evening,’ laughed Charlie. ‘Mr. Sands, an attache of 


62 


PHIL CONWAY. 


the United States Consul at Livingston, and Bostwick, 
a full fledged U. S. detective, were here.’ 

“ ‘A de — -detective from the — the United States !’ 
The bunch of orchids fell on the table out of Alice’s 
hand. I did not dare look at her face; fortunately 
Charlie was engaged in taking from his sideboard 
some cigars. Tor what?’ Despite its tremor, her 
voice was strangely cool — I guessed from despair. 

“ ‘Why, they’ve come to get that fashionable embez- 
zler, Saxon, who they say has fled to Guatemala. 
You’ve heard about the fellow, I imagine, Mrs. Web- 
ster,’ answered Bellinger; ‘that New York trustee of 
orphans and widows, who embezzled the funds that 
were the support of young children and aged women, 
and lost them in a big Western land speculation.’ 

“ ‘But he may not have intended to.’ The lady’s tone 
was so very sad that her host turned suddenly to her 
and exclaimed: ‘Ah, you have sympathy for every- 
body, bless your dear, kind heart ! But I haven’t any 
for that scoundrel. Supposing his speculations had 
made him millions ; would those with whose estates he 
was intrusted have gained anything by it ? Pish !’ 

“ ‘But he may have been unfortunate in Wall Street,’ 
I suggested. I couldn’t bear the strained ex.pression 
on the wife’s face at hearing her husband called a 
scoundrel. 

“ ‘Pshaw ! A gentleman in Wall Street loses his own 
money, not that of the helpless, the infirm. When he 
has got through losing his own money he is “busted,” 
and he throws up his hand,’ asserted Charley doggedly. 
‘That’s the proper way to take a bust ; that is the way 
I acted when the Board of Trade in Chicago used me 
up on a wheat deal. I speculated until I had no more 
money and then said, “I quit the game;” and came 
down to the tropics to try and regain the fortune that 
I had lost in grain — in coffee. Hang it, if I could put 


PHIL CONWAY. 63 

my hands on that thief Saxon I’d hand him over to 
Uncle Sam myself.’ 

“To this Mrs. Webster made no reply, but turned as 
if to go to her husband’s room. Anxious to allay her 
fears I suggested: ‘But there’s no extradition treaty 
between the United States and the Guatemalan gov- 
ernment.’ 

“ ‘Pish! they’ll hand him over quick enough,’ jeered 
Bellinger. ‘The new President of Guatemala will be 
anxious for the favor of the United States. It is more 
easy to write a handsome letter about the comity be- 
tween sister republics, to the State Department at 
Washington, and hand over a criminal to the United 
States, than to pay the debts of this country to Amer- 
ican bondholders. You’ll see that Cabrera, the new 
President, will be very anxious to make a point on this 
matter, and Mr. Saxon will go back to America quicker 
than if hauled up before a Bow Street committing 
magistrate in London. Canada is the place for ab- 
sconders ; that is where Roderick Saxon ought to have 
fled ; he didn’t know his business I’ Charley, occupied 
at his sideboard, pulls out the cork of a bottle and re- 
marks : ‘Mrs. Webster, I’ve got a treat for you this 
evening. I heard you accidentally state that Chateau 
Yquem was one of your favorite wines, so I telegraphed 
Livingston a couple of weeks ago, and here it is.” 

“ ‘I am afraid my husband is too much fatigued 
by his long journey to-day to join us at the dinner 
table,’ said the lady softly. At the door she turned ; 
her eyes met mine. From my glance she divined that 
I knew her miserable secret, and oh, the agony on 
her face! She pressed her hands quietly together 
and stepped with faltering feet out on the big ve- 
randa. 

“It was growing dusk. Fireflies were making bril- 
liant the semi-tropical foliage that was about us. Leav- 


64 


I>HIL CONWAY. 


ing Charlie engaged in his preparations for dinner, I 
walked slowly behind her. 

“At the extreme end of the balcony she leaned over 
the railing of the veranda, protected from all eyes by 
some big laurels and broad leaved palm trees that grew 
up close to it. I stopped short behind her and whis- 
pered: ‘Believe me, you have my sympathy, Mrs. 
Saxon. There is no one so unfortunate as an exile.' 

“ ‘Except his wife, his unhappy wife !’ she muttered, 
a sob in her voice, and turned eyes upon me that dis- 
mayed me, their despair was so immense. ‘You know — 
how long have you guessed — have I betrayed my hus- 
band ?' 

“ ‘Only since I heard the words of the detective and 
remembered having seen once in the Metropolitan 
Opera House, under its brilliant lights, a girl of su- 
preme beauty and great social standing, who was to 
make the marriage of the season — Actia Alice Has- 
welL' 

“ ‘Oh, don’t remind me of that time !’ she moaned. 
‘Think how I have suffered ; and yet I cannot give up 
my husband, who has been goodness itself to me for 
these six years of married life; five years 'and ten 
months’ happiness, joy, a delirium of wedded bliss; 
these last two months a haunting, half crazy nightmare ! 
I beg you to believe, sir, that my husband did not sin 
intentionally ; that terrible Western investment took his 
own money ; then he, acting as trustee for so many peo- 
ple, having unlimited funds, drew a check upon his 
bank account, thinking to replace it.’ As she tried to 
excuse her husband Actia Saxon’s face had in it a ten- 
der love that was divine. But she continued rapidly, 
eager to defend the scoundrel who had her heart : 
‘That went, swallowed in that financial maelstrom of 
Western speculation — railways, iron mines, every- 
thing to take money. Then the unforeseen industrial in- 


PHIL CONWAY. 


65 

action of the last few years — iron going down, down, 
down; money going up, up, up! More funds of 
orphans, more funds of widows drawn upon. But all 
this time my husband hoped, and never let me guess his 
terrible financial strait, though in a laughing way he 
would say : “Actia, always have a valise packed ; we 
never know when we may run down to New Orleans 
or take a trip to Florida.” Then one evening he came 
from the club; I had just driven up from the theater; 
he said, ‘Ts the trunk packed?” I replied: “Yes; to 
where?” “To New Orleans!” “With pleasure,” I an- 
swered, and gave him a kiss. Traveling with him was 
always a honeymoon tour, I so enjoyed being by his 
side. So we left New York by the midnight train for 
the South, and in New Orleans he told me everything; 
gave me my choice of going back to riches, to my uncle 
in New York — you know he is one of the great powers 
of the land, who, though he refused to aid my husband 
in his extremity, would, I know, take me immediately to 
his home and to his heart. But the face of the man who 
had for six happy years been a good husband to me and 
whom I still love, going away into a felon’s exile, 
hunted down, alone, to face despair by himself, made 
me say: T go with you! You are still my husband; 
you are still the man I adore!’ Then here, journeying 
under an assumed name, through tropic jungles, up 
mountain paths ; the fever striking him down in Coban, 
until I thought death would take him ; then your kind- 
ness — God bless you for that ! But after what Mr. Bel- 
linger said, I feel it would be wrong for my husband 
and me to further trespass upon his hospitality. The — 
the thief’s wife must no longer contaminate the honest 
planter’s roof. We must leave to— to-night; but where 
in all this wide world to go?’ And, for an instant, 
breaking down, God pity her, how that unfortunate 


66 


PHIL CONWAY. 


lady did weep. Each sob seemed to tear her delicate 
body in pieces. 

“Moved by the helplessness and despair of this 
lovely creature, who but yesterday had had the adula- 
tion of the world, I said : ‘You must not go till to-mor- 
row. Your sudden departure might place suspicion on 
your husband. For the present you are perfectly safe 
from Bostwick ; he thinks that I have known your hus- 
band as Roger Webster from boyhood.’ Whereupon I 
told her the story of my ruse. 

“ ‘And you did this knowing that you were shield- 
ing Roderick Saxon? God bless you for that,’ she 
exclaimed, ‘I shall never forget it!’ then whispered: 
‘God has sent you to us in our extremity ; you will aid 
my husband, who is still ill and weak, to escape from 
these bloodhounds. Would it replace any of the money 
in these people’s pockets if he were chained and 
dragged back as a felon to the United States ?’ 

“ ‘Very well,’ I remarked, ‘Mrs. Webster, I’ll step in 
and think of some kind of an excuse to Charlie for 
your leaving to-morrow. In the morning, meet me 
under the big cieba tree by the brook at the bottom of 
the garden. By that time I shall have devised some 
way to aid you.’ 

“Even as I spoke the spirited woman -grew calmer. 
Brushing away the tears from her streaming eyes, she 
turned them on me and faltered : ‘Yes — I’ll — I’ll do as 
you say ; you did not call him thief ; God bless you 1’ 
And so went bravely to her own room, to warn the 
miserable fugitive, who had wrecked her young life, of 
the danger which had come upon him. 


CHAPTER V. 


THE TELEGRAM SENT FROM COBAN. 

“Pondering over this interview, I joined Charlie i- 
the dining room. That gentleman was still interested 
in his wines and liquors, not daring to trust them to a 
ladino who would probably drink everything in sight. 

“Quite shortly — Oh, how I admired the fortitude of 
the woman — Actia Saxon came quietly in and sat 
down with us at dinner. Save hectic flushes upon her 
cheeks and unnatural lights in her eyes, though these 
sometimes seemed partly dim with repressed tears, no 
traces of the cruel anxiety that must have been rack- 
ing her were noticeable, even to my dissecting gaze. 
This evening she appeared more animated than usual 
and perhaps more beautiful, in a nervous, fitful, yet 
thoroughly enchanting manner; though she treated 
Bellinger with a peculiar ethereal yet elusive coolness, 
which indicated to me that she did not forget Charlie’s 
criticism of her husband. 

“The more distant the lady the more fervid the 
wooer. After the meal, Bellinger’s eyes — he had 
been drinking a little champagne this evening — became 
more than usually ardent, his guest’s beauty almost 
making him forget that she had a sick husband in a 
near-by hammock, and that he was a gentleman and 
her host. This I scarce wondered at. Actia Saxon — 
for I now thought of her by her true name — seemed 
even more lovely in her despair in far-away Guatemala 
than when I had seen her in her triumph at the Metro- 
politan Opera House. Her face had gained in spirit. 
This evening, and in fact during all her residence at 
67 


68 


PHIL CONWAY. 


Bellinger’s plantation, she was dressed in semi-tropic 
style, probably to give to people chancing to meet her 
the idea that she was of the country and not a foreigner. 
A Spanish mantilla of black lace, draped about her 
face, made her costume almost romantic ; the light mus 
lins of a tropic dress outlined a form which, despite 
its perfect grace, was statuesque in its rounded sym- 
metry. Being robed as a dona of the country, she wore 
of course an evening gown de rigueur, which permitted 
charming glimpses of dazzling shoulders and arms that 
seemed modelled like those of a Greek statue. To Bel- 
linger’s impassioned eyes and almost extravagant com- 
pliments, she opposed the chilling barrier of the woman 
who will not understand. Quite shortly she rose from 
the table on the plea of the fatigue of the day’s journey. 
But at the door she turned and said : T regret my hus- 
band was not able to join us, because this will probably 
be our last dinner with you, Mr, Bellinger.’ 

“ ‘Last dinner !’ gasped Charlie, turning pale despite 
the champagne in his blood. 

“ ‘Yes, my husband’s business will compel him soon 
to leave. We must not stay long enough to fatigue 
your hospitality. Mr. Webster has, I think, already 
found a plantation far up in the mountains, that can be 
made valuable as a coffee property.’ 

“As she left the room the young planter, sinking into 
a chair, looked at me with dazed, almost unbelieving 
eyes, and whispered: ‘She is going! — Why?’ 

“This gave me an opportunity to make the excuse 
I had formulated in my mind for Saxon and his wife’s 
departure ; I said : ‘You are the reason !’ 

“ ‘I ?’ 

“ ‘Yes. Your passion has made you forget ’ 

“ ‘Not that I’m a gentleman !’ interrupted Bellinger 
angrily. ‘Despite my love I have never forgotten that 
I have been the host of this lady and her husband. 


PHIL CONWAY. 69 

And yet I suppose it’s best that my day dream should 
end.’ 

“ ‘Yes/ I answered, ‘Alice Webster is a true wife, 
and as such she would be compelled to resent your say- 
ing anything, foolish to her. Think over it, my boy, 
and you’ll know that she is wiser than you.’ So I left 
him muttering disjointed words about this beauty be- 
ing married to a broken down invalid, that the sun was 
going from his plantation, and other ravings of cham- 
pagne mixed with passion. 

“The next morning I met the wife of the refugee at 
the appointed place near the big cieba tree. ‘I’ve been 
thinking about your predicament all night, Mrs. 
Saxon,’ I said, as she extended a trembling hand to my 
greeting. ‘How is your husband? Well enough to 
travel ?’ 

“ ‘Yes, thank God, well enough to leave here ; well 
enough to no more accept the hospitality of a man who 
branded him in my presence as a scoundel !’ The dark 
circles beneath her eyes told me of a night’s suffering. 

“ ‘Yes, but Charlie didn’t know you were Saxon’s 
wife,’ I muttered ; though the lady’s words showed me 
that Bellinger had settled his fate forever with her 
by his severe arraignment of the absconder. 

“ ‘But I can take your aid,’ she said softly. ‘You 
spoke in excuse of his misfortunes.’ Then agony came 
into her eyes as she whispered : ‘But the detective from 
the United States, this man Bostwick, I think you call 
him — my husband will not live to be dragged back a 
felon. Save me if possible from a tragedy that would 
drive me crazy.’ 

“ ‘To do that,’ I answered, ‘there is only one way. 
Sands and Bostwick will certainly journey on towards 
Guatemala City in search of the fugitive. Finding no 
one answering the description, perhaps no American 
with his wife in the country except you and your hus- 


70 


PHIL CONWAY. 


band, they will perhaps return here to question you. 
Then ’ 

“ ‘Then it will be my' husband’s life or their lives !’ 
she exclaimed hysterically. ‘Don’t crush me with ab- 
solute despair.’ 

“ ‘No, because I have thought of a plan to prevent 
it.’ 

“ ‘Oh, God thank you !’ 

“Now having told one lie to save the scalawag 
Saxon, I had got interested in thoroughly blocking the 
detective, not only from sympathy with Saxon’s de- 
voted wife, but from very pride in playing a winning 
game. During the night I had thought of a plan that 
promised success. Therefore I answered : ‘I know the 
Jefe Politico in Coban. Sands, the employe of the 
American Consul, and the detective will doubtless 
confer with him before they pass on to the capital. 
He is a gossiping, well meaning but innocent official. 
To him I shall give such information that he will 
send a telegram informing Sands and Bostwick 
that the fugitive whom they are seeking is re- 
turning secretly via Tumahu, La Tinta and Panzos 
to Livingston; that having discovered he is being 
hunted down in this country, Saxon will take one of the 
steamers to America from Livingston, thus doubling 
back upon the hounds. 

“ ‘Receiving this, doubtless Bostwick and the Con- 
sul’s man will hurry by the most direct route to 
Livingston, which is the one I have mentioned. They 
have already travelled this one and probably know 
that this rough, unused mountain trail would be 
practically impossible for a lady. Though of course 
they will not find your husband at Livingston, I 
don’t think, judging from his muleback experi- 
ence, Mr. Bostwick will engage in another mountain 
journey in this country. Therefore, in the retired plan- 


PHIL CONWAY. 


71 


tation of which you spoke, I think your husband will 
probably be safe from further pursuit.’ 

‘God bless you for your words — your promise !’ 
whispered Actia Saxon. ‘Hurry to Coban and do 
what you have told me. By the time you return my 
husband and I will be able to go to our new home. 
Oh God, when I think of the other one in far-away 
New York, surrounded by myriads of friends, re- 
spected by the world, and now an outcast, a fugitive, 
a pariah!’ and this unfortunate lady, who had once 
been a pet of Metropolitan society, burst into such a 
torrent of weeping that she frightened me. But even 
as I turned to leave her she stifled her sobs, laid a 
white imploring hand upon my arm and said: ‘An- 
other thing, one more favor. All this time in our flight 
I have felt that I was degrading myself using the 
money my husband has brought with him, which does 
not belong to him. But I have not dared to cash a 
draft upon my uncle, who I know would pay it will- 
ingly, as it would disclose my location and true name. 
I have drawn up one upon Cartwright Haswell, the 
New York banker, whose favorite niece I was — whose 
favorite niece I think I am still. You are shortly go- 
ing to New York?’ 

“ ‘Within a very few days.’ 

“ ‘Will you give me the money out of your private 
funds for this — it’s only a thousand dollars — and kindly 
present it to my uncle and tell him where I am? I 
have not dared to write him. My secret will be safe 
with him; he will learn what has become of me, and 
thank you for bringing news of me.’ 

“ ‘With a great deal of pleasure,’ I answered. 

“Two hours afterward I was in Coban. At the 
Hotel Aleman I heard that Sands and Bostwick, 
after making fruitless inquiries in town, had been told 
by the German landlady that the only American and 


72 


PHIL CONWAY. 


his wife she had seen in a year were Mr. and Mrs. 
Webster. To this the detective had answered that he 
knew all about Webster, and had departed upon his 
way, accompanied by Sands, via Santa Cruz, over the 
mountain trail to Salama. 

‘‘On hearing this, I immediately chanced to lounge 
into the office of Don Pedro Zaparto, the Jefe Politico. 
Here I found that worthy full of news and excitement. 
General Prospero Morales had fled to his own depart- 
ment and was raising troops in Quezeltenango to make 
good his claim to the Presidency. The Government 
was butchering all of Morales’ adherents it could put 
its hands upon. 

“Of course this was not told me in those words by 
the very cautious official, but that is what I gathered 
from his remarks about insurgents being defeated and 
imprisoned and sentenced. ‘This will make the journey 
to the capital rather uncertain for your two American 
friends, Sands and Bostwick,’ added the old man. ‘The 
American official police detective told me of meeting 
you at Bellinger’s plantation.’ 

“ ‘Yes ; and I desire to prevent that journey,’ I re- 
plied, ‘as I wish them to catch the American absconder, 
Saxon, who embezzled money from my cousin, a young 
lady in New York.’ 

“ ‘Oh, yes, Saxon is the absconder the American de- 
tectives want to get hold of. Could I put him in their 
hands ihat would be a great feather in my cap,’ ex- 
claimed the Jefe excitedly. ‘For I know our govern- 
ment would be pleased to return this picaro to the 
United States. Cabrera, our new President, would be 
delighted to be able to write a letter of amity and send 
it on with the ruffian to the President of the United 
States ; it would show the entente cordiale between the 
two countries.’ 

“ ‘Yes, therefore I can give you a hint,’ I said. 


PHIL CONWAY. 


73 


‘And what is that ?’ 

“ ‘We’ll telegraph about this way to Salama/ I sug- 
gested, ‘stating that the fugitive is journeying, ac- 
companied by his wife, to Livingston by way of Tu- 
mahu. La Tinta and Panzos; that at Livingston, if they 
hurry, they will catch him trying to board the Ameri- 
can steamer for New Orleans.’ 

“ ‘You are sure the American scoundrel is going to 
escape that way?’ 

“ ‘Quite certain. A ladino, who came up to Bel- 
linger’s plantation last night, said he had seen an 
American and a woman, who answered to the de- 
scription of Saxon and his wife, at Taetle. They had 
already mounted their mules on their way back to Tu- 
mahu and Panzos.’ 

“‘Then if you’ll write out the dispatch, I will see 
that it is sent immediately,’ said Zaparto. So I sat 
down and wrote the message on the Jefe Politico's offi- 
cial paper in about the form that I had suggested. 

“ ‘Thank you,’ observed the Jefe politely. ‘My hand 
is a little tremulous. I was out at a fandango last night 
given in honor of our new Presidente, and age and 
wine do not go too well together. Come with me and 
I’ll send this dispatch with my official frank at once 
to the officer of the garrison at Salama. That will 
ensure its being attended to.’ 

“Crossing a broad corridor we stepped into the tele- 
graph office, which was in the Government Building. It 
was a bare stone-floored apartment and could be en- 
tered directly from the plaza by the few foreign mer- 
chants who occasionally used the wire for a commercial 
dispatch ; but no one was in the place, though its Morse 
receiver was ticking. 

“ 'Diablo, young Hererra hasn’t got through his 
aguardiente sleep,’ laughed Zaparto. ‘The poor fellow 
was at our fandango also. He likes his hammock, but, 


74 


PHIL CONWAY. 


you see, he has made arrangements for receiving his 
dispatches, he is so scientific,’ and the old gentleman 
pointed to a paper tape that was placed on the Morse 
machine and registered in dots and dashes any mes- 
sages coming over the wire. ‘Our former operator 
didn’t know as much as this man,’ said Don Pedro. 
‘He could only read by listening! Hererra makes the 
machine do his work. He is wonderfully brilliant, 
graduated from the Government College at the capital.’ 

“ ‘Humph, a lazy fellow I’ I muttered. 

“ ‘Oh, no. What does it matter if he sleeps ? The 
machine does the work,’ said the Jefe contentedly. 
‘But I will leave the message.’ He placed the dis- 
patch I had written on the operator’s table and to pre- 
vent its blowing away, plumped a good-sized piece of 
silver ore from a mine in the distant mountains, upon 
the paper. ‘As soon as Hererra becomes sober enough 
he will see it and the message will be forwarded im- 
mediately. We mustn’t blame him ; boys will be boys.’ 

“ ‘But some one else may see the message,’ I sug- 
gested. 

“ 'Caspita, very few send telegrams in Coban,’ 
laughed Don Pedro; ‘and what does it matter if any- 
one does see it ? Don’t doubt it will be sent before the 
day is out. I am interested in this matter as well as 
you,’ continued the official, who overwhelmed me by 
his thanks as I took my leave. ‘The extradition of this 
ladron Saxon,’ he explained effusively, ‘will make me 
a favorite with our new and beneficent Presidente. 
Thank you for your suggestion. Will you not dine 
with me, honored senor?’ 

“ ‘That’s impossible to-day,’ I answered. ‘Bellinger 
and I are busy getting my old friend, Webster, settled 
on the plantation he has purchased.’ 

“ ‘Oh, ah, yes, 1 remember the Senora Webster ; a 
most beautiful lady. I saw her once when she was 


PHIL CONWAY. 


75 


nursingMier sick husband at the Hotel! Sehora Web- 
ster is going to settle in this country ! I am happy/ 
babbled the old official, as 1 bowed myself out, 

“I had brought Manuel into town with me, and he 
was getting together the mozos de cargo necessary to 
transfer the baggage of Saxon and his wife to their 
distant plantation ; but Indians being scarce and Manuel 
being delayed in this matter, I bethought me of Mrs. 
Saxon’s commission, and went to a German merchant 
who acted as Charlie’s agent in the town, from whom, 
on my letter of credit on the Banco Internacional at 
Guatemala City, I obtained the thousand dollars neces- 
sary to cash her draft. With a bag of Mexican silver 
pesos in my hand I strolled back to the Hotel Aleman* 
for dinner, and, while seated in the dining room, gave 
a gasp of dismay, for into it came Johnny Sands and 
the detective Bostwick. 

“ ‘Why, I — I thought you’d gone on to Salama. 
What’s brought you back?’ I stammered, as they sank 
into chairs by my side and began the meal. 

“ ‘Well,’ answered Bostwick, ‘between the heat and 
that terrific mountain trail I’m done up. I’ve got to 
have a day’s rest and Omega Oil. That mule they gave 
me had the gait of a dromedary on Cairo Street at the 
World’s Fair and nearly shook me into sausage meat.’ 

“I was delighted to hear this; that would prevent 
them returning to Bellinger’s plantation that day. But 
on the morrow they might come and chance to see 
Saxon. Therefore, after a moment’s consideration I 
duplicated the lie I had told to the Jefe Politico. 

“Humph, you may not have to try that dizzy moun- 
tain trail after all,’ I said. 

“ ‘How is that ?’ asked Bostwick eagerly, resting one ^ 
of his legs on another chair. 

“ ‘Well, I chanced to see a ladino last night from 
Taetle. He said that he had seen an American and a 


76 


PHIL CONWAY. 


Gringo lady on muleback, headed for Panzos by the 
way of Tumahu and La Tinta.’ 

“ ‘Why, that’s the route we didn’t travel over !’ cried 
Bostwick. 

“ ‘Yes, Tumahu is about twelve leagues southeast of 
here, on the easy road,’ added Sands. ‘That’s the most 
probable route an American would take with his wife. 
It leads straight for Panzos by Turucu and Teleman. 
It wouldn’t surprise me if they were going back to the 
coast.’ 

“ ‘Yes, it wouldn’t surprise me now, if he has dis- 
covered that you are after him, that Saxon should go 
back to Izabal and Livingston and from the latter place 
take one of the American steamships, now that you are 
making this country too hot to hold him,’ I rejoined. 

“ ‘By gum, it wouldn’t surprise me if you were 
right! I don’t wonder at an American getting out of 
this country, anyway,’ said Bostwick, ‘and no Ameri- 
can with a white woman, from our inquiries on the trail 
to Salama — and we went as far as Santa Cruz — ^had 
gone along in that direction. I think. Sands, we’d 
better get under way for Tumahu to-morrow morning 
and get after the fellow. You say it’s an easy road?’ 
The detective rubbed his joints moodily, 

“ ‘Why, yes ; a wagon can travel it I’ answered Sands. 

“‘A wagon! can you get one — any old jerky — then 
we can get off this afternoon?’ 

“ ‘I think I can procure you one,’ I answered eagerly, 
and going out called Manuel, who had just got his 
mozos together, and with the aid of my indefatigable 
boy, within half an hour we brought up a wagon 
drawn by two mules, and I said to Bostwick : ‘Here’s 
the only wagon in Alta Verapaz, and it’s at your 
service.’ 

“ ‘God bless you, my friend !’ exclaimed the detective. 
‘I’ve been lathering my joints with half a bottle of 


PHIL CONWAY. 


77 


Omega Oil and I guess Til be able to stand the jolting. 
God forever bless you for putting me into a wagon to 
follow Saxon’s trail.’ And with that the two drove oif, 
more effusive in their thanks than the Jefe Politico had 
been. 

“With a sigh of relief, I mounted my mule and, fol- 
lowed by Manuel on another, the Indians trotting be- 
hind us, took our way to Bellinger’s plantation. At 
the very entrance Charlie met me and muttered, with 
a kind of a groan : 'She’s gone !’ 

“ ‘What, Mrs. — Mrs. Webster !’ I asked. 

“ ‘Yes, they got under way on muleback an hour 
or two ago,’ answered the planter. ‘I am glad you 
brought up the Indians to take their baggage. I sup- 
pose you’ll be going soon to New York, and then I 
shall be very much alone here. Oh, you’re not leaving 
already?’ he ejaculated, for I did not dismount. 

“ ‘Oh, no,’ I said, ‘but I’m going after Mrs. Webster 
and her husband ; even now he’s too ill to do much for 
himself, and I’ll try to make them comfortable in their 
new place before I return to you.’ 

“ ‘Thank you for being kind to her,’ said Charlie 
sadly. ‘The poor girl will have a hard time with a 
husband who does not understand the natives and their 
lingo. I wanted to go with them and help them get 
settled in their Indian hut, for that’s all it is, but Alice 
declined my offer very coldly. Hang it, I suppose I 
must have let out my secret to Kbr in some way,’ he 
faltered. ‘She has been frigid as Greenland’s Icy Moun- 
tains to me ever since yesterday,’ muttered the poor 
fellow as I rode off. 

“Long before evening I had overtaken Saxon and 
his wife. ‘You have done as you promised?’ said 
Actia to me anxiously. On seeing me, she had pulled 
up her mule and turned back so as to obtain a private 
word. 


78 


PHIL CONWAY. 


‘Yes, I dispatched that telegram all right, through 
the Jefe Politico; but then ' 

“ ‘What then?’ 

“ ‘Why, while I was getting dinner at the hotel 
Bostwick and Sands returned to it.’ 

“ ‘Oh God pity me ! If they should chance to come 
up here ’ 

“Here Saxon, who had ridden up, broke in hoarsely : 
‘I’ll not be taken alive. If these hounds come upon 
me it’s my life or their lives !’ and his hands 
quivering with the ague sought a pair of big six- 
shooters in his belt, things I had never seen upon him 
before. 

“Looking upon the agonized eyes of his wife, I 
was happy to tell her that I had put danger from her 
husband. So I related the lies I had told Sands and 
Bostwick and recounted the story of the sore-limbed 
detective and his Omega oil and the wagon I had pro- 
cured in which he might travel back to Panzos. ‘Mark 
me, Bostwick’ll never get out of that wagon; you’re 
safe from him,’ I laughed, ‘as long as you keep to mule 
trails.’ 

“At this the ripple of a smile ran over Actia’s sadly 
beautiful face, as her husband said to me shortly : ‘My 
devoted girl has told me you know who I am, and that 
you have been a friend to her in her misery. Let me 
thank you.’ 

“The next day Manuel arrived with the mozos 
bearing their baggage. So, after having made them 
as comfortable as possible, in a little palm thatched 
Indian house and efigaged a couple of Indians as their 
servants, and placed the thousand dollars I had obtained 
on my own draft in Mrs. Saxon’s hands, I left their new 
abode. 

“Saxon making a warning sign and drawing me 
aside, said under his breath: ‘If you’ll take the hand 


PHIL CONWAY. 


79 


of a man whom people thought two months ago 
they were honored in grasping, I’ll thank you for it, 
Mr. Conway. You’ll not see me again,’ he continued 
moodily; ‘I know this fever is never going to leave 
me,’ then sighed despairingly : ‘Were it not for leaving 
this poor girl, who has been more than a wife to me, 
alone in this semi-barbarous place, I think I would 
finish the whole thing up to-night and say good-by to 
the world forever.’ 

“Fortunately his wife, who was mounting a restive 
mule in front of the hut, did not hear this, and after I 
was astride my animal, rode with me gratefully up the 
first hill from her little i ancho, trying by brave words to 
show she was in good spirits by speaking to me of 
their coffee venture and what a pretty plantation she 
would make that wild secluded little mountain valley; 
and that her husband up here, far away from the world, 
would grow strong again and in her arms become 
happy. So she bade me adieu, bidding me not to forget 
to tell her uncle in New York that she was content and 
hopeful. Oh, the brave spirit of that poor broken- 
hearted girl, torn from a life of luxury by her devotion 
to a scoundrel! As she held out to me her delicate 
white hand, she muttered, fighting back the tears: 
‘I shall never forget what you have done, dear friend, 
for the wife of an exile.’ 

“Two minutes after I ventured to gaze back ; she was 
bending over her saddle bow, outlined against the 
blue mountain air and surrounded by the green of the 
primeval semi-tropic forest and sobbing as if her heart 
were breaking. Actia Saxton was being punished for 
her dastard husband’s crimes. 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE DAUGHTER OF THE FUGITIVE. 

“Only remaining over night with Bellinger, as I had 
already taken a four months’ vacation and must hurry 
back to New York, I journeyed by the steep, almost 
unused Indian trail via Chescal and Schenaju, making 
the trip over its dizzy precipices in a little less than 
three days, and, gradually descending to the tierra 
caliente, arrived at Panzos. At the miserable one-room, 
mud-hut hotel in that mosquitery, sand-flied Indian 
river port I found myself compelled to lie over until 
the departure of the little stern-wheel steamboat which 
travels down the shallow and winding Polochic to the 
beautiful El Golfete of the Rio Dulce. As I rode up 
to the hostelry a platoon of rather ragged cavalrymen 
was picketed in front of it, the appearance of both 
horses and troopers indicating that they had made a 
long, hot and dusty forced march; their officer, ap- 
parently a captain, being seated near the entrance, 
smoking his usual cigarette, and washing the dust out 
of his throat with aguardiente and water. 

“I acknowledged his courteous 'Buenos dias, Senorf 
and stepped into the hotel, to be met at the door by 
the host, who effusively offered me the best in the house, 
which wasn’t very much, though for my dinner I got 
some native potatoes as big as walnuts, in addition to 
the eternal fried eggs of the country, tortillas, frijoles, 
and the unending badly prepared coffee of this country, 
which had been made a week and was poured out of a 
Scott’s Emulsion bottle — they are great people for pat- 
ent medicines in Guatemala-. 


8o 


PHIL CONWAY. 


Si 


‘'As he served me, the landlord remarked : ‘You have 
noticed our brave troops outside?’ And, receiving my 
assent, he whispered, ‘They are in pursuit of a fugi- 
tive.’ 

“This at once aroused my curiosity. Could Sands and 
Bostwick have appealed to the military arm to assist 
them in the hunting down of Saxon? I immediately 
made inquiries and learned that both the Americans 
had arrived two days before and had caught a river 
boat and were now probably at Izabal, en route to 
Livingston. 

“ ‘Ah, a fugitive ! What kind of a fugitive ?’ I asked. 

“ ‘A fugitivo politico! They* have searched the town 
for him but they have not found him. They arrived 
only two hours since from Teleman, which they passed 
through this morning, having come on all the way, I 
think, from Salama. The captain says that the capture 
of the fugitive, who is probably some adherent of 
Morales, would give him promotion.’ 

“I walked outside and the officer, introducing himself 
as El Capitan Gurmanito, questioned me as to the 
route I had taken, and, finding I had come in by the 
mountain path from Schenaju, inquired if I had met 
anywhere upon it a man of military bearing and dis- 
tinction. 

“On my replying no to this question he surprised me 
by observing: ‘I hardly thought that would be pos- 
sible ; that trail is too rough for ladies, though some of 
my countrywomen ride as if they were vaqueros.’ 
Then we had a glass of aguardiente together. Soon 
after I left the captain smoking another cigarette and 
walked down to the river bank to look at the City of 
Belize, the diminutive flat-bottomed steamboat that I 
expected would take me on my way to El Golfete and 
Livingston on the morrow. Having a few purcjiases 
to make, I strolled into a store whose walls were pa- 


82 


PHIL CONWAY. 


pered with copies of Harper's Weekly, Puck, and 
Judge, to see if I could get some cigars. To the aston- 
ishment of the proprietor, who had onfy enjoyed the 
pictures, I read and explained to him some of the jokes. 
Curiously, the placarding of the place made me feel as 
if I were getting back to America. Buying enough 
cigars to last me not only to Livingston, but to New 
York, for a peso, I lighted one and, carrying the rest in 
my hand, wandered about the place in an effort to 
avoid the sand flies and mosquitoes. I would have 
lingered, looking at a bright little stream which ran 
down in a cascade over the limestone forming a pool 
before it entered the main Polochic, where half a 
dozen Indian girls and women were engaged in wash- 
ing clothes, and a mozo in the unaffected manner of 
that country taking a bath minus a bathing dress ; but 
the mosquitoes drove me on. I had scarce turned away 
from this and wandered through some pretty palms 
and a little grove of cocoanuts beside the river, for 
the vegetation was now that of the tropics, when I dis- 
covered, to my astonishment, that I was followed by 
what I thought was a young Indian girl. A moment 
later I started, as she spoke to me in English. 

“ ‘You are an Americano,’ she faltered; ‘therefore I 
have ventured to address you. You are the gentleman 
who just arrived an hour ago at the hotel.’ Then a sob 
choked the sweet voice, and she murmured ‘My father !’ 

“I stared at her in speechless astonishment. 

“Impulsively, she had drawn away the Indian head- 
dress. I was looking upon the beautiful child who had 
attracted me in the Teatro Nacional de Guatemala, the 
daughter of General Don Diego Morazan. 

“ ‘Ah,’ she broke out, ‘I see sympathy in your face !’ 
and as she continued hurriedly I discovered that her 
Indian costume was a disguise. ‘I have dared to ap- 
proach you, senor,’ she said, ‘you being an Americano 


PHIL CONWAY. 


83 


and thereiore a lover of freedom, because you are the 
only man who can save my dear papa from being mur- 
dered.’ 

“ ‘Murdered ! Good Heavens !’ I gasped. 

“ ‘Yes, they are in pursuit of him — you saw the troops 
about the hotel. He is being hunted down because he 
would not consent to assist in the assassination of Gen- 
eral Marroquin, the commandante at the capital. For 
over a week we have journeyed over the mountain 
paths, all the time thinking we could reach without 
opposition a steamship at Livingston to take my father 
to safety. But as we crossed the last pass coming 
down to Teleman we chanced to look back and saw 
soldiers coming after us, and then my father knew he 
was pursued and that it would not be possible for him 
to take the river boat here to go to Livingston and the 
American steamer. A price has been put upon his 
head ; it is “dead or alive,” sehor, so we hid in the hut 
of an Indian down the river — you cannot see it from 
here, it is so secluded and is round the next bend. 
It is that of a soldier who had once fought under my 
father and whom papa had made a sergeant a long time 
ago; therefore, he risks his life for him. His wife 
came into town and loitered about the hotel and looked 
at the troops. Then she heard you were an Americano 
of the United States, and so I in my despair came to 
you. My father perhaps would not have permitted me, 
because it would bring danger upon you ! But I have 
read Americans are brave. I had seen your face be- 
fore, in the theater. You remember that evening; you 
looked at me quite often’ — a slight blush reddened her 
pale cheeks. ‘I said : “No one else dare aid us ; I’ll try 
and get him to save my dear father.” Have I been mis- 
taken in your face, sehor?’ Oh, how she looked at me 
with her lovely eyes ! 

“The exquisite grace and pathetic pleading of the 


84 


PHIL CONWAY. 


charming child made me answer: ‘No! I have seen 
and respected your father, and Til do what I can to 
save him from a firing party. Just let me think a 
moment.’ 

“ ‘Yes, think; please think!’ she ejaculated in naive 
impulsiveness. Then she ran on eagerly voicing ideas 
that she had probably heard her father express during 
his flight. ‘If he could get to the American steamer he 
would be safe.’ Next, considered with knit brow a 
moment and whispered : ‘You have a passport ! Could 
you not take him with you as your servant ?’ 

“I didn’t pay much attention to her -wild words; I 
was thinking how to save poor old Morazan, the mili- 
tary hero — thinking a good deal harder than I had done 
to assist Saxon, the miserable absconder. A moment 
after I spoke: ‘To take your father with me as my 
ladino is impossible. His age and military bearing 
would contradict it. Besides, Don Diego is too well 
known. If your father gets upon that steamboat’ — 
I pointed to the City of Belize some distance up the 
river, where the natives were carrying bags of coffee 
upon her and loading her down to the gunwale — ‘he 
will be immediately seized by the troops waiting for 
him.’ 

“ 'Madre mia, that is true !’ she gasped. 

“ ‘But I have a plan,’ I said. ‘I can assert anxiety to 
proceed on my journey. The steamer does not leave 
till to-morrow. It will not be thought very wonderful 
for a rushing Yankee to take a bungo down the river 
and so gain a day. With its rapid movement a boat 
will go down the Polochic almost as quick as the 
Belize. In half an hour from now I, in a bungo, will 
be alongside that hut in which your father is. It’s out 
of sight of the town, you say?’ 

“ ‘Yes,’ she answered eagerly. ‘You can know it be- 
cause two pacaya trees are in front of it and a banana 


PHIL CONWAY. 85 

patch is behind it. Besides, it is the oniy hut below this 
on the river bank.’ 

“ ‘Then tell your father to be ready to step on board 
with me,’ I answered, ‘and I’ll try to get him to Liv- 
ingston and put him on board the American steamer, 

and ’ I didn’t get a chance to say any more, for 

she had seized my hand in both her little ones and was 
pressing her sweet lips to it and murmuring words 
that even then sent a strange thrill through me: ‘For 
this I love you, sehor.’ 

“But I cut her short by saying hastily : ‘You mustn’t 
be seen with me. Remember, in half an hour !’ Then I 
wandered back into the town, pondering on the uncer- 
tainties of Central American revolutions. Here was 
the man who had issued to me this very passport I had 
in my pocket now being hunted for his life. 

“At the hotel I fortunately found Manuel, for that 
worthy sometimes disappeared when the Indian girls 
were pretty. To him I said: ‘Manuel, you can do 
nearly everything, from riding a bucking mule to bak- 
ing a tortilla or making a whiskey punch.’ 

“ ‘Si, seiior/ he grinned. 

“ ‘Can you sail a boat ?’ 

“His reply was to the point and encouraging. He 
answered shortly : ‘I was a fisherman for two years at 
Tiger Island and La Union on the Pacific.’ 

“ ‘Then,’ I commanded, ‘get me a boat, the fastest 
you can find — one big enough to carry us, our baggage, 
and with lots more room in it, for we’ve got to sleep 
in it. Purchase it ! We’ll sell it at Livingston. I’m tired 
of waiting here for that steamer. We can beat the 
steamboat down this quick-flowing river. Get our 
things into it in a quarter of an hour. I’ll buy supplies 
for the trip.’ These orders were given in front of the 
hotel in a loud voice for the benefit of the lounging 


86 


PHIL CONWAY. 


captain, who was still smoking and had another drink 
of aguardienti in front of him. 

“ ‘Santos! you’re in a hurry to leave us,’ said the 
captain, lighting another cigarette, and languidly listen- 
ing to a sergeant who rode up and reported that so 
far they had found no suspect in the town. 

“‘Yes; that accursed steamboat won’t leave till to- 
morrow and the mosquitoes have already nearly eaten 
me alive,’ I answered, showing a goodly number of 
spots and blotches. ‘A night in this place would be 
purgatory.’ 

“ ‘Yes, they are very bad,’ laughed the officer. ‘At 
Salama we are pretty free from the pests, but here in 
the low country they drink our blood. Adios, mi 
amigo, would I were going with you.’ 

“I was very glad he wasn’t going with me. 

“Paying my bill at the hotel, to the disgust of the 
proprietor, who had expected me to be valuable to him 
for another day, I walked down to the little store again 
and bought — thank heavens, it was kept by a semi-civil- 
ized native — some sardines in cans, some salt fish, a 
couple of dozen yards of tassajo, a hatful of eggs, some 
ready-cooked cassava-bread, sausages, pan didce, cof- 
fee, a few tin pans, flint and steel and tinder — matches 
are almost unknown — and all the delicacies I could 
find in the shop — pickles, French preserves, and some 
California canned fruits; for, in imagination, I saw 
the pearly teeth of the sweet little Dona Lucia munch- 
ing the dainties as we sped down the river. 

“I had scarce paid for these when Manuel made his 
appearance and told me he had got a good long bungo 
chiselled and burnt out of a big cieba tree, which was 
the fastest boat not only on the river but on El Golfete. 
But the proprietor would not sell it, though he would 
go down with us to Hivingston for fifty dollars, a 
most unheard of price, but he had to bring the boat 


PHIL CONWAY. 


87 


back. ‘Besides/ added Manuel, ‘you’ll need a pilot, 
and this fellow, Pablo, knows every river, creek and 
inlet between here and the mouth of the Rio Dulce.’ 

“I had determined to take no boatman with me, 
thinking by this means tq eliminate spies; but a little 
consideration told me the man would have no chance to 
tell tales until he returned, and probably a pilot through 
these inland waters might be necessary to the safety of 
the pretty girl. Therefore, I engaged the man at his 
price, only stipulating that he should be ready in ten 
minutes. 

“ ‘Ten minutes?’ he growled. ‘Manana!' 

“ ‘To-morrow!’ I screamed. ‘Five minutes, picaro!' 

“ ‘I’ve nothing to eat on board.’ 

“ ‘I have plenty.’ 

“ ‘I have no tobacco.’ 

“ ‘I have lots. Buy some for him in the store,’ I said 
to Manuel. 

“ ‘Poco tiempo/ he whined. 

“ ‘No poco tiempo with me, I know you natives 1 
Manuel, throw him into the boat in five minutes.’ 

“ ‘I must bid my wife and children good-bye.’ 

“ ‘Bid them good-bye when you came back,’ I com- 
manded. ‘Fifty dollars!’ The fifty dollars seemed 
potent and he walked off with Manuel. 

“Five minutes after I was at the river bank, and 
found Manuel and the boat and the pilot ready to sail. 
Manuel was a great man. He afterwards told me he 
had taken a club and threatened to knock off the head 
of Pablo, the pilot, if he didn’t get a move on. 

“Three minutes later, having stored my pro- 
visions under a thatched toldo or awning which 
shielded the after-part of the craft from the sun, 
we spread two dirty sails to the wind and were 
floating down the quick stream. After rounding the 
first bend I saw the two big pacayd trees, and whis- 


88 


PHIL CONWAY. 


pared to Manuel, who had taken the tiller : ‘Slip along- 
side the bank by that Indian hut.’ 

“ ‘Santos y demonios!' cried the pilot, ‘you’re miss- 
ing the current.’ 

“ ‘Never mind, I want to stop here !’ Lucia, sheltered 
by some banana plants, was waving a fluttering hand 
from the bank. 

“ ‘Diablo, you’re running us aground !’ 

“ ‘Manuel, put us alongside those trees !’ cried I, 
and seizing the boat’s painter I sprang onto the bank. 
As I did so Doha Lucia came running to me, her eyes 
radiant, and from the hut stepped her father, the grim 
old general, who had thrown aside his military trap- 
pings, but not his military bearing, and was dressed 
after the manner of a coffee-planter. Then, to my 
astonishment, came the German governante, Fraulein 
Sofia Whenclause, dressed likewise in the manner of 
the country, her fine figure looking voluptuously beauti- 
ful in her Indian garments. But I didn’t have much 
time to think of her then, for I was already taking 
Don Diego’s hand and whispering to him of the prepa- 
rations I had made for his safety. 

“ ‘I thank you, senor,’ he said simply ; ‘thank you 
not only on my own account, but upon her account!’ 
He pointed to his little daughter; then added hesi- 
tatingly: ‘You are sure that no trouble will come 
upon you for this matter ?’ and almost seemed about to 
decline my aid, for the governess was muttering in 
grateful voice to me : ‘You are risking your life for 
the General, noble American!’ 

“But Lucia’s agonized and imploring eyes made me 
resolute. ‘I’m not compromised in the slightest. Gene- 
ral. Not a picaroon in Panzos guesses,’ I replied hur- 
riedly. ‘Only step in quickly.’ 

“As I spoke I placed Dona Lucia under the little 
thatched toldo over the stern of the bungo. A moment 


PHIL CONWAY. 


89 


after the General assisted the governante over the gun- 
wale and took his place beside her as she sat down, 
introducing me simply by saying: ‘Doha Sofia, this 
is the kind-hearted Americano gentleman, Don Filipo 
Conway.’ 

“During our conference the guide had made a move 
to get on shore, but warned by a glance from me, 
Manuel had prevented him. A moment later we were 
in midstream again, running down with the current of 
the swift Polochic. We had two hours more of day- 
light, and I intended to make the most of them. 

“Glancing at the General, I discovered that the anxie- 
ties of the last few months had aged him greatly. 
Though he contrived to hold himself erect with military 
stiffness, the wrinkles about his forehead were such 
that his eyes seemed to flash at me from two deep 
caverns; his mustache, from grizzled, had turned to 
snow. But even in the shadow of death, the old 
hidalgo’s manner and bearing were calmly resolute as 
they had been in the opera house, as, with one arm 
about the little Lucia, who nestled to him, he spoke to 
me in low tones of the unfortunate circumstances that 
had placed such peril upon him. 

“ ‘After the assassination of Barrios,’ he said, ‘when 
all was chaos and Morales, nominally the Vice-Presi- 
dent, was returning from Mexico to assume charge of 
the Government, I refused to countenance the line of 
action of what was nominally my party, which in- 
cluded the murder of Marroquin, the commandante 
of the garrison of Guatemala. The moment this 
tragedy was completed, Marroquin and his staff 
slaughtered and Cabrera in power, I knew I was in 
danger and that I must leave the country. 

“ ‘So, with my child and Dona Sofia, I fled on mule- 
back as rapidly as possible, determined to reach Living- 
ston and from there take the American steamer. On 


90 


PHIL CONWAY. 


the route we were compelled to stop for a few hours 
very privately at the house of a trusted friend in Co- 
ban. You see, Doha Sofia,’ remarked Don Diego, gaz- 
ing quite tenderly towards the magnificent German gov- 
erness, who, some few feet from us, was leaning over 
the stern of the hungo, looking backward up the stream 
anxiously, ‘is a magnificent woman, but not accustomed 
to riding a mule’ — a grim smile rippled the features of 
the General — ‘therefore we had to give her a chance 
to rest; though she has great spirit in her, and even 
while in Coban, wearied as she was, contrived to wan- 
der into the telegraph office and there learned that a 
price had been put by the Government upon my head, 
dead or alive. That was really my first absolute 
certainty that my securities and money in New York 
were of sufficient value to cause a relentless pursuit 
to make me surrender them under the guise of a 
forced loan — for that’s one of the great reasons they 
have for hunting me down. But this only makes me 
the more anxious to escape from the country. I will 
not, though it takes my life, rob my dear little girl 
of the fortune that was left her, through me, from her 
departed mother. So we hurried on again from Coban, 
taking the most comfortable road for ladies, through 
Turucu and Teleman to Panzos ; but before arriving at 
Teleman, looking back from the top of the last moun- 
tain pass I chanced to discover a platoon of cavalry; 
then I was certain death was very close behind me 
and we hurried here, fortunately arriving an hour be- 
fore the soldiers. We didn’t come through the main 
town, but I, knowing Panzos very well, took a little 
mule path around its outskirts and reached the hut of 
my old sergeant of infantry, Ville Flores, who secreted 
me. Even from there Dona Sofia would have ventured 
into Panzos to see what action the troops were taking ; 
but of course I wouldn’t permit that ; Sofia could never, 


PHIL CONWAY. 


91 


from her accent, be mistaken for an Indian; besides, 
her appearance is so striking it would command atten- 
tion. But my dear little child,’ he patted the shoulder 
of Doha Lucia, who had her arm about his neck, 'went 
into the place unobserved, found you, sehor, and 
dared to address an American gentleman and ask his 
aid for her poor old papa. That’s all. At first I did 
not wish to accept safety at any risk to you, but my 
little girl prevailed upon me.’ 

“ ‘Of course I did, papa. Something in Don Filipo’s 
eyes told me that he would be pleased to help me,’ said 
the maiden archly, gazing at me gratefully, yet diffi- 
dently. 

“ ‘In that you are perfectly right,’ I answered, ‘you 
have made me very happy in placing it in my power 
to be able to do such a slight favor to you and your 
honored father as offering him a seat in my bungo and 
an al fresco supper by the bank of the Polochic — if 
the mosquitoes will let us eat it.’ Whereupon, the flash- 
ing of the fireflies and cocuyos on the river banks tell- 
ing me that darkness had come upon us, I holloed to 
Manuel, who was at the tiller, and the pilot, who was 
in the bow attending to the jib and foresail: ‘Get us 
ashore ! Supper !’ 

“This was a welcome order for both my ladino and 
the copper-colored Pablo ; and within five minutes they 
had run the boat up into a little bay where a mountain 
stream ran into the main river. Manuel, the pilot and 
I sprang on shore and carefully beat the brush for 
corals, tamagasas and taboba snakes, for I would take 
no chances of Dona Lucia being stung by any of 
these deadly reptiles which Pablo said were quite com- 
mon on some of the swampy reaches of the river. Find- 
ing the place was safe we got the ladies ashore ; and a 
fire being lighted, Manuel was soon officiating as cook. 


92 


PHIL CONWAY. 


Ah, he IS a wonderful cook, is Manuel — and gave us 
under the circumstances a very fine supper. 

“The meal seemed quite romantic in this great 
swampy forest, the soft river flowing beside us, the 
brilliant flashes of the myriad fireflies which sparkled 
in the jungles being reflected in its rushing waters. 
Over an olla podria of tassajo, chili Colorado, country 
potatoes, hard-boiled eggs, and I believe a little garlic, 
we grew almost merry. Then Doha Lucia, seated be- 
neath a great mahogany tree covered with trumpet 
flower vines, put her pearly teeth into my preserves 
and said : ‘Thank you, Don Filipo. You’ve guessed 
what I liked most in all the world — California canned 
peaches! I once had a few of them in the capital of 
Guatemala; they came down the Pacific coast by the 
mail boats, and I’ve always longed for more 1’ Even 
the General seemed to have thrown off the. shadow of 
death that had been pursuing him for the last few days, 
and, smoking his cigarette and drinking his coffee, 
smiled pleasantly at me as I told Dona Lucia about the 
wonders of big New York, where I hoped to see her 
and her father. 

“ ‘Why, it’s bigger than Paris,’ said the little lady, 
‘and they have railroads there that run in the air, don’t 
they? Doha Sofia has read to me and told me about 
it’ 

“As for the German governante, though she had 
eaten as good a meal as any of us, during which she 
had been kindly attentive to Don Diego, ministering 
to the old man in a peculiar way that sometimes made 
me think she was more his nurse than the governess 
of his child, she was the only one who appeared op- 
pressed with anxiety; she was always gazing up the 
river and, it seemed to me, listening, fearing the noise 
of a pursuing boat. This, however, gave me the hint 


PHIL CONWAY. 


93 


to go on. I said briefly to Pablo : ‘Do you know the 
river well enough to sail it at night ?’ 

“ ‘For ten pesos more I have eyes like a cat.^ 

“ ‘The ten pesos are yours. Get under way again ! 
Manuel, if you’ve finished eating, put your provisions 
on board at once.’ 

“At my commands we were shortly in the quick cur- 
rent in the river, and all this night continued to voyage 
down it, I making Doha Lucia and her father and Dona 
Sofia as comfortable as possible beneath the toldo upon 
a pile of coffee sacks and covered by ponchos and sera- 
pas, though I myself, a good deal of this night, did 
not sleep. I felt the safety of the party was in my 
hands, and kept an eye on Manuel that he shouldn’t 
go drowsy at the tiller and that our pilot should play no 
tricks upon us, for by this time I was pretty sure that 
Pablo suspected there was something more than a 
mere desire to escape mosquitoes in my hurried depar- 
ture and boat journey from Panzos. 

“And now, in the silence of the night, only broken 
by the bowlings of monkeys and the cries of beasts 
of prey in the forest, I had time to meditate on what 
might come to the unfortunate General and his child 
in far-away America. But Don Diego, probably in 
his eventful life having passed through many dangers, 
slept like a soldier, soundly, though I noticed that sev- 
eral times Dona Sofia uneasily roused herself and 
looked up stream over the stern of the bungo as if she 
still dreaded pursuit, and I wondered if the handsome 
young German governess could be in love with the 
old, grizzled, time-beaten warrior, whose manner to her 
had been that of extreme respect and even tender solic- 
itude. As for myself, sleep would not come to me, 
probably on account of my anxiety for the safety of 
the little maid who had trusted her father’s safety so 


94 


PHIL CONWAY. 


implicitly to me. I feared some accident of travel, that 
in making some of the bends which were numerous 
now, for the river is very winding, we might run upon 
some hidden snag in its swift current and be capsized. 
I had no wish for Lucia to make a bonne hoiiche 
for the alligators that I could hear bellowing from the 
mud flats along the river, for now we had reached the 
heart of the tierra torrida, with its fauna and its rep- 
tiles. Jaguars were howling in the forests about us; 
from the thickets floated to me in the miasmatic mist — 
it was now towards morning — the short, hissing snort 
of the peccaries. 

“I am perhaps more explicit than is absolutely neces- 
sary in the details of this journey,” remarks Conway 
parenthetically; ^‘but I wish you. Von Tschudi, to form 
your own opinion of the events that led up to a catas- 
trophe that at this moment threatens the Jiappiness of 
my future life.” 

“Then the sun rose, in lurid brightness, clearing the 
mists away, showing me a tropic river which had 
grown much broader, bounded on either bank by 
forests of the various trees of the equator. From 
thickets of flowering begonias, sarsaparilla vines and 
wild vanillas rose up clumps of bright green ma- 
hogany, graceful palms, big ciebas, locust and pacaya 
trees. In their branches troops of monkeys welcomed 
the coming of day by their bowlings, though these were 
equalled by the- chattering of flocks of green-winged 
paraquets and humming birds. 

“It was a tropic fairy scene; and into it tripped the 
fairy. A little hand was diflidently smuggled into 
mine and a soft voice murmured in English with de- 
lightful Castilian accent : ‘Don Filipo, mi caballero, 
may the Holy Virgin bless you for the care of the 
fugitive — ’ Lucia looked in anxious tenderness at 


PHIL CONWAY. 


95 


the reclining form of the old Guatemalan soldier, who, 
wrapped in his serapa, still slumbered on the coffee 
bags; then turning her eyes on me blushed and smil- 
ingly added, a tinge of archness in her soft voice — 
‘and — and his daughter!’ 


CHAPTER VIL 


ON THE DECK OF THE NEW ORLEANS BOAT. 


“ 'Would the daughter of the fugitive like break- 
fast?’ I asked, embarrassed by the gratitude of the 
charming child. 

“ ‘As soon as she washes her face,’ she answered 
archly. Leaning over the side of the bungo and plung- 
ing her hands into the water of the river, Lucia made 
a hasty ablution, from which, brushing away the wet 
curly locks that hung about her head, she emerged 
like a naiad. A moment after, as I gave orders to Pablo 
and Manuel to make the first convenient landing place 
upon the bank, she stepped to her sleeping father and 
roused him by tender kisses. After one hasty look 
about him to see that all was well, the old General, 
throwing off his poncho, declared that, like his 
daughter, he had a very good appetite. Then Dona 
Sofia, her fine figure in her Indian robes, suggesting a 
Queen of the Amazons in a Niblo’s Garden spectacle, 
arose, and gazing anxiously up the river, muttered 
gratefully: ‘We are still safe from pursuers.’ The 
boat was soon drawn up alongside of a mud bank, 
which was the best landing place Pablo could find, as 
we were now in the low delta of the Polochic. At 
our approach its only inhabitants, an alligator and a 
couple of turtles, plunged into the river and left us in 
undisputed possession of our camping spot. Fortu- 
nately, some driftwood which had lodged in the mud 
was dry enough to make a fire; and a few minutes 
afterwards Manuel had done his duty and we were 
96 


PHIL CONWAY. 97 

all seated about a hasty, yet hearty meal of tortillas, 
coffee, fried eggs, salt fish, and canned fruit. 

“ ‘Papa,’ said Dona Lucia earnestly, as she revelled 
in more California peaches, ‘when we get on board 
again we must let Don Filipo sleep. Several times in 
the night when I awoke I slyly looked at him and he 
was always watching over us.’ 

“ ‘Cierto, I should have done that myself, my child, 
had I not already passed two sleepless nights on the 
road from Coban,’ answered the aged general. ‘I owe 
my apologies to our preserver. But age has made me 
no longer as alert a soldier as I should be.’ 

“ ‘Pish !’ I answered, ‘you thank me too strongly, 
Dona Lucia. Pll sleep when Pve got you all to Liv- 
ingston.’ For I had hopes with a favoring wind that i 
late this very night we might make the seaport at 
the mouth of the Rio Duke. ‘When your father is 
safely on board the American steamboat I shall think 
my work is finished.’ Then I cried : ‘All aboard !’ 

“In a few minutes we were on the water again, and 
now our sails becafne of greater use to us, as the cur- 
rent of the river, which had divided itself into several 
branches, had become much more sluggish. By the aid 
of a slight breeze in about three hours we entered the 
broad waters of Lake Izabal, sometimes called ‘El 
Golfo Duke,’ and saw back of its s’outhern shores the 
great mountains of the Sierra de Mico, which rise blue 
behind the pueblo of Izabal, the custom house port. 

“This town I did not propose to visit, not caring for 
general observation, and kept well towards the north, 
only sighting at a distance a couple of native fishing 
boats and the steamboat Wanderer, bound up to the 
mouth of the Polochic, where she would meet the flat- 
bottomed stern-wheeler, the City of Belize. 

“But the wind now headed us and I found our 
bungo not as quick a sailor against it as our pilot had 


98 


PHIL CONWAY. 


given her credit for. Soon the breeze freshened into a 
squall and we had an accident, carrying away the rick- 
ety stick that Pablo called his foremast. In the rough 
waters of the lake we could not repair it, and, much 
against my will, I was compelled to put the boat before 
the wind and make Izabal. This we did not accom- 
plish until after dark, for, under but one sail the boat 
moved quite slowly, the slight tide — we were now 
in salt water — being against us. Sometimes I think 
Pablo played us a little false; for we had no sooner 
reached the little wharf that runs out from the unin- 
viting town than the fellow tried to get on shore ; but I 
stopped this and forced him to go to work, in conj unc- 
tion with Manuel, in repairing and setting up the 
broken spar. 

“As we lay off the wharf the German governante 
whisperingly proposed that she should go on shore into 
the town and see if there was any immediate danger 
to the general — if any report by telegraph had been 
sent to the police or troops at Izabal in regard to the 
fugitive. But all of us, though pleased at her devotion 
to Don Diego, discountenanced this wild proposition, 
Lucia jeeringly remarking: ‘Why, with thy German- 
Spanish, Doha Sofia, the mo^os would think you came 
of a funny tribe !' 

“At this for a moment an angry flash darted into 
the eyes of Fraulein Whenclause, but controlling her- 
self she said quietly though suggestively : ‘Don’t criti- 
cize my Spanish, Lucia; otherwise at recitation some 
day I may criticize thy German, which would be a 
much more serious affair, eh?’ 

“At the slight menace in the tone, the child flushed 
angrily, but her father remarked soothingly: ‘My 
daughter, don’t be pert to dear Sofia, who is devoted to 
you and to me, and who has even now shown it by 
offering to take a great risk for me.’ 


PHIL CONWAY. 


99 


“ ‘To take a risk for you, papa ?’ cried Lucia, peni- 
tently. ‘Forgive me, Sofia!’ and she threw her arms 
around the handsome German girl’s neck and kissed 
her. It was the first time I had seen the governante 
exercise authority over her pretty young pupil, who, 
though she might be vivaciously pert, seemed to love 
her tutoress. 

“But before I had much time to think about this 
we were visited by a custom house officer who, in showy 
uniform that made him look like a French brigadier- 
general, came down to the end of the wharf to examine 
our boat. This brought considerable embarrassment to 
me; I did not know how to account for the presence 
of Don Diego, who prudently kept well in the back part 
of the bungo under the toldo, little Lucia effacing her 
self behind a pile of coffee bags ; though the German 
lady anxiously placed her arm about the threatened 
general. 

“Glancing at Sofia’s white complexion and northern 
face, what I conceived was a bright idea entered my 
head. Addressing the custom house officer, I showed 
him my passport and told him I was a Government 
detective from the United States and had in my cus- 
tody Saxon, the Yankee absconder, whom I had taken, 
in company with his wife, up in the country near Co- 
ban. ‘Saxon’s wife is with him still,’ I continued, 
seeing the custom house man had placed inquiring eyes 
on the governante, who had drawn near to us anxious 
as to what this interview portended to Don Diego. 

‘‘^Diablo! The United States officers have made a 
great many inquiries lately for this ladron Americano/ 
answered the revenue man. ‘Two of them are now 
drinking whiskey up at the posada of Senora Juana. 
They are bound for Livingston, to which place they 
think the fugitive has returned, For Dios, this will 
^ a joke on them,’ 


LoFC. 


100 


PHIL CONWAY. 


“ ‘Oh, Sands, the attache of the American Consul, 
and Senor Bostwick?’ said 1. 

“ 'C as pita, you know them ! They’ll be unhappy to 
hear that you are more fortunate than they,’ laughed 
the revenue official. 

“ ‘Don’t say anything about my luck with Saxon to 
them. They’ll try and divide the reward with me,’ I 
answered, slipping a couple of gold onzas into the 
hands of the official. 

“ ‘Cierto, I understand,’ he grinned. ‘As you come 
down from Panzos, of course you have no dutiable 
goods on board, being an outgoing craft,’ and with a 
wink he pocketed his gold and took his departure 
without further examination of the bungo, remarking 
with a grimace: ‘Sehora Saxon is an attractive pas- 
senger, mi amigo/ 

“By this time the foremast had been repaired and 
stepped ; and, implored by the anxious looks of Doha 
Lucia, I thought it wise to get under way again. So 
about nine o’clock in the evening, just as the moon was 
rising, we hoisted sail and leaving Izabal, headed for 
the Rio Dulce, that marvelous estuary which cuts the 
high cliffs that lead to the ocean. About an hour after 
leaving the pueblo, Don Diego placed his hand quietly 
upon my arm and whispered : ‘I think we are pursued.’ 
Looking backwards over the moonlit waters I could see 
another boat or conoa sailing persistently in our wake. 

“ 'Mein Gott, your life is in danger !’ cried Doha 
Sofia, using the German ejaculation, a strident tone 
of excitement in her voice. 

“ ‘Get out oars !’ I ordered, and the breeze being 
light, forced Pablo, who seemed always lazy, to take 
a hand with Manuel at one of the sweeps of the bungo, 
while I, assisted by the poor old General, tugged at the 
other. Thus we drifted, rowed and sailed into the 
mouth of the Rio Dulce, between great limestone cliffs 


PHIL CONWAY. 


lOI 


hundreds of feet high, that glistened in the moonlight 
and looked like marble palaces surrounded by green 
trees. We had scarce passed the old lighthouse by the 
half-ruined fort of San Felipe when I questioned our 
pilot: ‘How shall we lose that pursuing craft?’ 

“ 'No entende, senorf 

“ ‘Twenty dollars if we lose that other boat !’ 

“The twenty dollars seemed to quicken Pablo’s in- 
tellect, and he whispered to me : ‘I can do it. Caramha, 
1 know the mouth of the Rio Chocon !’ 

“ ‘What’s that?’ 

“ ‘A river whose curious opening is masked by a 
rocky ledge covered with vines and trees,’ explained 
Pablo. ‘The best pilot on the coast, if he did not 
know it, would sail past its mouth and never guess 
another river entered the Dulce.’ 

“Another hour at the oars under Pablo, who had 
suddenly become not only skilful but energetic, and we 
glided into a canal masked from the main estuary by 
a high ledge of rock covered to its water’s edge by the 
rank vegetation of the tropics. ‘It was a great hiding 
place for Mihusteros,' whispered the pilot as our bow 
parted the dark waters. Then making a quick turn, 
we found ourselves in a little river flowing silently to- 
wards the Rio Dulce ; disturbing a whole lot of alliga- 
tors from their accustomed haunts, for the place is 
lonely and only visited by a few mahogany cutters in 
the season. 

“Up its moonlit vistas we journeyed perhaps a mile, 
and then landing, made our camp by a little rivulet that 
flowed in a cascade over as beautiful rockery as the 
hand of Nature ever formed, for, under the moonlight, 
it was silver water flowing through banks of blue 
orchids, and a golden stream rushing between crimson 
trumpet flowers when tinged by the red gleam of our 


IQ2 


PHIL CONWAY. 


camp fire, at which Manuel was soon cooking a very 
excellent supper. 

“Being very hungry we all, I think, made a hearty 
meal ; after which General Morazan and I lit our cigars 
and smoked quite contentedly 

“As we sat about the cheerful blaze we all had 
thrown off any fear of pursuers — save the German 
governante, who still appeared anxious and nervous 
and seemed to be always looking- down the river Cho- 
con and listening. Perhaps this got me to listening 
also, for there seemed to be no noise, even the alligators 
and bats had grown quiet and a tapir which had been 
grunting and splashing around the bend had abruptly 
left the water and gone to his den. Suddenly I started 
to my feet; there was a noise, coming up the river — 
the splash of oars! 

“ 'Mein Himmel, we are pursued I’ whispered Sofia. 

“Dona Lucia, with a low cry of anguish, would have 
thrown herself into her father’s arms, but the old Gene- 
ral put her aside and whispered: ‘Be the daughter of 
a soldier, my child;’ then commanded: ‘Remember 
the papers, Sofia, if aught happens to me 1’ as he placed 
his hands upon the butts of two big revolvers. 

“He was drawing the weapons, but I stopped him, 
saying hastily : ‘One moment I Let me step forward 
and see if I can’t throw these men off your track.’ Be- 
fore Don Diego could stay me I had forced my way 
through the heavy jungle and was on a little point of 
the stream, three or four rods from our party. In the 
moonlight I could see a conoa coming rapidly up the 
river, driven by the oars of four Indian rowers. Then 
I heard a voice — thank God, an American voice — cry- 
ing excitedly: ‘There’s their camp-fire by the bank. 
We’ve got him, Sands!’ 

“‘Got who?’ I called. 

‘Why, got you and Saxon !’ cried Bostwick, spring- 


VmL CONWAY. 


103 


ing out on the bank, followed by the Consul’s attache. 

“ ‘Got Saxon ?’ 

“ ‘Yes ; we’re onto you !’ said Bostwick triumphantly. 
‘When that custom house officer at Puerto Izabal five 
hours ago came up to Dona Juana’s posada and told 
us that Senor Conway, a U. S. detective, had Saxon, 
the absconder, taking him and his pretty wife back 
in a boat to Livingston, we dropped on your little game. 
We have made inquiries all about the Verapaz country, 
and the only American with a wife that we could hear 
of is Webster.’ 

“ ‘You see,’ jeered Sands, ‘from what we picked up 
at the hotel in Coban, we reckon you are a little 
sweet on Mrs. Webster; and when the custom house 
man told us you had Saxon in charge we guessed at 
once that, implored by Mrs. Webster’s pretty eyes, you 
had lied to save Mrs. Webster’s husband — Roderick 
Saxon.’ 

“ ‘Nice game, telling us to go down to Livingston 
and catch the fellow on the American steamer; and 
coming down behind us with him,’ guffawed the de- 
tective. ‘I suppose you were going to escort Saxon to 
Puerto Barrios to get the coast steamer there? It’s 
only twenty miles south of here.’ Then both of them 
patted me merrily on the back and said : ‘Great man !’ 

“ ‘But even you will thank us, perhaps, when pretty 
Mrs. Saxon loses her husband in an American jail,’ 
continued Bostwick affably. ‘Or was it for the ten 
thousand dollars reward? Perhaps he was going to 
turn him over himself. Sands. That’s what he told 
the customs man at Puerto Izabal !’ Then he blurted 
out: ‘Why, cuss it, Conway, you’re laughing at us!’ 

“For, relieved from anxiety on account of Don 
Diego, and seeing no Guatemalan troops, I was mak- 
ing the forest ring with my hilarity. Choking this 
down, I whispered hastily : ‘Keep your Indians in your 


104 


PHIL CONWAV. 


boat !’ and pushed my way through the jungle, followed 
by Sands and Bostwick, who had already got out a 
pair of handcuffs. 

“A moment later I simply said: ‘General Morazan, 
let me present my two friends, Messrs. Sands and Bost- 
wick !’ As the two astounded Americans stood gazing 
petrified at the old gentleman, I introduced them to 
his daughter and the German governante, laughing : 
‘This is Mrs. Saxon,’ and hastily explained the matter 
to the disconcerted detective and the Consul’s attache. 

“After hearing the details of the affair and that I 
was attempting to assist Morazan from the country, 
Bostwick, though doubtless chagrined at losing Saxon, 
said heartily : ‘We’ll do anything, won’t we. Sands, to 
help this old hero escape military assassination and 
put him under the American flag.’ Perhaps the im- 
ploring looks of Lucia had something to do with it; 
but I knew in a moment that instead of enemies I had 
found friends and assistants in the two Americans. 

“ ‘Thank you, Bostwick,’ I whispered, wringing his 
hand. ‘Keep your men back ; don’t let them get out of 
the boat. These Indians might betray us.’ A moment 
later Bostwick was on the bank ordering his mozos to 
hold their places in the conoa and craftily calling to 
them that another Yankee detective had the American 
absconder in his charge and would follow along. 

“During this I was in conference with Morazan and 
Sands, the latter telling the old General how, think- 
ing me in love with pretty Mrs. Webster, they had 
made their curious mistake. To this Lucia v/as listen- 
ing, her ears and eyes very wide open — though Dona 
Sofia seemed now quite indifferent to the incident. 
Over their cigars Sands and Bostwick privately 
assured Morazan that they would do anything they 
could to aid him to escape from his enemies and put 


PHIL CONWAY. 


105 


him under the American flag ; and shortly bade us good- 
bye and took their departure. 

“But almost as he stepped into the boat, Bostwick 
astounded me by saying: ‘We should never have 
found our way into this masked river after you and 
would have lost you entirely, if we had not chanced to 
pick up, just at its mouth ’ 

“ ‘What?’ I asked. 

“ ‘Why, this woman’s mantilla, floating at the very 
entrance of the Rio Chocon !’ — he tossed to me a white 
lace shawl. 

“ ‘Why, it’s yours, Sofia,’ said Lucia. 

“ ‘Oh, could it have fallen overboard ? I was so ex- 
cited, so frightened !’ exclaimed the German governess. 
‘Well, it has been a fortunate incident for us, anyway, 
has it not ? You, Don Diego, have now the aid of two 
more brave Americans in your flight for safety.’ 

“As for Dona Lucia, she seemed, notwithstanding 
this happy termination to the adventure, to be now in a 
brown study. Two or three times the child looked at 
me in a curious, wistful kind of manner as I put the 
party in the boat again and we got under way, for this 
incident had delayed us and I was desperately anxious 
to reach Livingston as soon as possible. 

“So through the rest -of this moonlight night we 
journeyed between the wonderful islands and marble 
cliflfs of the Rio Duke, the perfume of orchids 
arising all about us on the mist of the morning; for 
they tell me that in daylight this great estuary of white 
limestone covered with its green vines, creeping plants 
and tropic flowers and fruits, is a dream of beauty 
scarce equalled under the sun. 

“However, I was now only thinking of getting Don 
Diego to safety. The deck of the American steamboat 
would be a finer sight for me than anything else, for 


I06 PHIL CONWAY. 

approaching the end of the affair I had grown very 
anxious and nervous about the matter. 

‘'A breeze from the Caribbean now caught our sails 
and it was only an hour or two after daylight that we 
made Livingston, the seaport at the mouth of the Rio 
Dulce, at which ocean vessels are compelled to lie on 
account of the bar at the entrance to the river. It is 
chiefly inhabited by Carib Indians, mestizos, and a few 
foreigners connected with the fruit and coffee trade. 
From the water, its white houses gleamed among its 
cocoanut trees ; behind them, the dense, tropical, path- 
less forest told me that the sole communication of the 
place with the distant interior of Guatemala was by 
water. Only danger could come to Don Diego by die 
Rio Dulce. 

“We landed very quietly at the Boston Tropical Fruit 
Company’s wharf, attracting no attention -except from 
a few Caribs who were lazily fishing. But as we 
stepped on shore I was delighted to find Bostwick 
waiting for us. 

“To me the detective whispered : ‘Sands, being con- 
nected with the American Consul’s office, cannot take 
any active hand in the affair ; therefore, after consulta- 
tion with him, I’ve picked out the house of a Mexican 
shopkeeper and fixed him. There we’ll make the Gene- 
ral as comfortable as possible until the New Orleans 
boat leaves this evening.’ He nodded towards the 
steamer, Baton Rouge, that was lying off the wharf. 
‘She won’t get under way until the Wanderer comes 
in this afternoon from Izabak’ 

“Explaining the situation to Don Diego, he said con- 
tentedly : ‘So all I’ve got to do is to keep quiet, I pre- 
sume ;’ but a moment after queried anxiously : ‘Would 
it not be much better if we could leave at once? Could 
h6 inducement be oflfeted to the captain of the Baton 


PHIL CONWAY. I07 

Rouge to get under way before the boat from Izabal 
and Panzos arrives ?’ 

“ ‘That would be simply impossible,’ said Bostwick. 
‘The New Orleans steamer hasn’t all its cargo on board 
yet, and the Company would never stand the skipper’s 
leaving behind people who have engaged passage on 
their craft. There are three or four coffee planters 
from up the country behind Izabal, and a couple of 
German merchants that are coming down from Guate- 
mala City by the southern route, who have already 
booked their cabins. They will arrive on the Wan- 
derer. But you’ll be pretty comfortable here until we 
put you quietly on board in your stateroom. With that 
big cloak wrapped around you, you’ll hardly be noticed 
by the lazy Greasers about this village !’ 

“Even while he was speaking we had got our charges » 
and their baggage out of the hungo, and I had given 
Pablo his eighty dollars and bidden him godspeed. 
Would that I had put a bullet through him as well ! 
But I didn’t. My own more extensive baggage was 
to be placed directly on the steamer from the bungo. 
Manuel took the few saddle-bags the General’s party 
had brought with them on muleback from Guatemala 
City and followed Bostwick. Then the detective lead- 
ing; we wended our way up through a retired lane in 
the cocoanut trees to the higher ground on the Campo 
Santo Viejo, where most of the foreign inhabitants 
of Livingston have their dwellings, as it overlooks the 
river and is sometimes cooled by a breeze that comes 
through the Rio Duke. 

“In a wattle-sided, palm-thatched, two-room hut we 
secreted the General, Bostwick cautioning him to keep 
out of sight, as the barracks was not far off up the hill. 
‘Some of your old soldiers might remember you. 
There’s a company of infantry up there,’ he remarked. 

“ ‘Yes, no one knows that better than I,’ sighed 


Io8 PHIL CONWAY. 

Morazan. 'Three months ago I detailed those soldiers 

to this post ; but now ’ he shrugged his shoulders, 

and seating himself on one of the hammocks suspended 
from the walls of the room, calmly lighted a cigarette. 
Lucia uttered a low cry and placed her arms about him, 
for Sofia was ejaculating anxiously: ‘A company of 
soldiers! That would be dangerous if they knew, 
wouldn’t it? If orders have been telegraphed they 
might seize you, Diego, at once I’ 

“ ‘Yes, but I doubt if they’ve been notified that I am 
wanted by the Government,’ replied the fugitive, be- 
tween the whiffs of his cigarette. ‘They wouldn’t act 
against me without positive orders ; so calm yourself, 
Sofia.’ 

“ ‘Yes, just you write an application to the steamship 
company for passage for yourself, Conway,*’ sai4 Bost- 
wick, ‘and Saxon your prisoner’ — he nodded to the 
General — ‘and ‘ his wife I’ — he blinked towards Dona 
Sofia. ‘And I’ll take it down to the American Consul, 
get his vise and secure staterooms for you on the 
Baton •Rouge.' 

“So I sat down and wrote the application, both the 
General and Sofia looking over the paper and advising 
me as to the wording of my description of them. 

“As I wrote, Sofia, quite concerned that I should 
not describe her as too old, picked up the paper and 
inspected it very carefully. 

“I finally finished it to her liking and Bostwick, tak- 
ing it, said: ‘That’s O. K., now I’ll get tickets; but 
first breakfast!’ For our Mexican host was placing 
before us fried chicken and bananas, tortillas, frijoles, 
European bread and good coffee and fresh milk. 

“Over the meal everybody’s spirits grew more buoy- 
ant, and the detective got to joking me about the mis- 
take that he and Sands had made in regard to Don 
Diego being Saxon, the New York embezzler. ‘Sands 


PHIL CONWAY. 


109 


says that he’s pretty well sure that Webster is Saxon 
anyway. But I’m not going back to get Saxon.’ Then 
he guffawed : ‘By Jove, you look relieved, Conway ! 
Reckon Mrs. Saxon’s — I mean Mrs. Webster’s mighty 
handsome figure and soulful eyes made you tell us that 
whopper up in Coban about having known Webster all 
your life. It’s mighty curious what a soft voice and en- 
treating arms will make some chaps do. But I don’t 
blame you ; they showed me a picture of Mrs. Saxon 
when I left to run down her husband, and she’s purty 
enough to make a fool of any man.’ 

“This insinuation I tried to throw off by laughingly 
asserting that if Bostwick knew that Webster was 
Saxon he’d immediately start up the country to get 
him. 

“ Wes, I would yesterday,’ said the detective, ‘but 
not since my arrival here. At first I was all-fired savage 
with you for throwing us off the track, but I’ve just a 
hint from a chap who has been sent after me from 
New York that there’s more money in letting Saxon 
go than in catching him. His wife’s uncle^ the big 
Wall Street banker, doesn’t want him took, on her ac- 
count. So you can write to Mrs. Saxon — I mean Mrs. 
Webster — that she needn’t be scared of Reuben Bost- 
wick.’ 

“Most of the party seemed to be only slightly inter- 
ested in the beautiful Mrs. Webster. Don Diego care- 
lessly smoked his cigarette, though once the German 
governess looked at me, a quick intelligence in her 
bright eyes, for little Lucia had stopped eating and was 
apparently making her meal of this conversation. 

“ ‘Go on with your breakfast, Lucia,” said Sofia. 
‘We’ll have nothing to eat until we get on board the 
steamer.’ 

“But her charge answered almost sulkily: ‘I’m not 
hungry. I don’t care for anything more. No — not. 


no 


PHIL CONWAY. 


even pineapple ! Tm only tired !’ She snapped^ out 
between her pretty teeth and rising from the table 
threw herself petulantly down on a pile of coffee bags. 

“A moment later Bostwick, as he lighted a cigarette, 
addressed the .German governess : ‘Now, if you’re to 
look like Mrs. Saxon you’ll have to get out of those 
Indian togs, both you and Doha Lucia. On the Ameri- 
can steamboat they’d hardly be the rig for Americans.’ 

“ ‘Yes,’ replied the German lady, springing up 
eagerly, ‘I’ll make purchases at once!’ 

“ ‘Hold up 1’ cried Bostwick hurriedly. ‘In this 
Indian costume, with your European face and bearing, 
you’ll be noticed. Inquiry may bring danger upon the 
General.’ He laid a detaining hand on the governante’s 
arm, for she was already at the door of the hut. 

“ ‘I believe, Sofia,’ said Don Diego, ‘that what you 
brought in our saddle bags will be sufficient for you 
and Lucia until we reach New Orleans.’ 

'' 'Ach grosser Gott, I didn’t think of these Indian 
rags,’ replied the German girl, her face reddening as 
she glanced down at her fine figure, displayed by the 
sleeveless, open-necked, white chemise and the blue 
cloth wrapped about her, from lithe waist to magnificent 
ankles after the manner of the Quiche tribe. ‘As you 
say, however, Diego, there is sufficient for. Lucia and 
I till we reach New Orleans. I’ll be ready with the 
child costumed for the steamboat when you notify me. 
At present I am worn out,’ and she threw herself into 
another of the hammocks, for all of us were very much 
fatigued. 

“So we passed a quiet, lazy, tropic day in the hut. 
The salt air of the ocean was refreshening after our 
inland travel. Most of the time I slumbered on a pile 
of coffee bags. I had been worn out by sleepless, con- 
stant watching; though once when I woke up, the 
^charming naivete of Dona Lucia interested me. I 


PHIL CONWAY. 


Ill 


noticed that the child was awake and had turned her 
eyes upon me with rather a curious glance. ‘What are 
you thinking about?’ I asked carelessly. 

“ ‘Why/ she said wistfully, ‘I have been wondering 
about this Sehora Webster, that the American detective 
thought you were in love with. Are you in love with 
her?’ 

“ ‘No,’ I answered ; ‘though Mrs. Webster is a very 
charming lady. I am not in love.’ 

“‘Not in love with anyone?’ said the child simply, 
adding naively : ‘Ah, Dios, you mustn’t fall in love with 
anyone until ’she blushed deeply and hung her head. 

“ ‘Until when ?’ I asked laughingly. 

“ ‘Until — until I am older.’ 

“Into this conversation Doha Sofia intruded the au- 
thority of the governante. ‘What nonsense is it you 
are talking, child?’ she said sharply from her ham- 
mock. 

“But notwithstanding this reproof Doha Lucia 
laughed merrily and even joked with me about the mis- 
take of the detective thinking that because I loved 
a lady, her husband must be a ladron. 

“Somehow in the four months that had passed since 
the night at the opera house it seemed to me she had 
wonderfully matured. 

“As for the General, being an old man and having 
endured great fatigue, he with a soldier’s calmness 
slept contentedly and continuously in order to recruit 
himself for the anxieties and activities of the embarka- 
tion. 

“At about four o’clock in the afternoon Bostwick, 
who curiously had kept about the hut for all but an 
hour or so and then, I noticed, had been relieved by 
Manuel, came in to us and said: ‘All is ready! Tell 
the ladies to be prepared in half an hour !’ 

“After giving them notice I stepped out of the hut^i 


II2 


PHIL CONWAY. 


that Doha Lucia and Sofia might make their/toilets 
for the steamer. Under a palm tree the ^etective 
shortly said: ‘Sands assures me that they^aptain of 
the New Orleans boat has had a hint from him and 
will do what he can for the General ; th(7Ugh of course 
the American Consul won’t act directly in the matter. 
So we’ll tote Don Diego on board as if he was Saxon, 
the American absquatulator, and I guess all will go 
very well.’ 

“ ‘You take a great deal of trouble about this mat- 
ter,’ I said to him gratefully, ‘even to being sentry for 
us all this day.’ 

“ ‘Well, you see,’ remarked Bostwick, ‘there’s 
nothing like keeping an eye out. Women are such 
skittish people, and that German governess hasn’t got 
much more sense than the law allows. Did you notice, 
if I hadn’t stopped her, how she was going into the 
town to buy togs for herself. She might have taken a 
sudden freak that she wanted a new ribbon for her 
steamer hat, and wandering about the stores in this 
one-street village would have soon attracted the eyes 
of every aguardiente-dr\vi\dng loafer in it, and perhaps 
some of the officers. So I thought it just as well to be 
around.’ 

“A few minutes after I stepped into the hut to find 
the party ready for embarkation, and to be astonished 
at the transformation of the ladies in regard to cos- 
tume, for the governess, robed very plainly in a well- 
fitting tailor-made gown, might almost have been taken 
for an American lady, especially one of German de- 
scent, and Dona Lucia, dressed in a plain dark blue 
child’s frock, now looked almost an American child. 

“Without more ado Bostwick and I explained our 
plan to the General, who was wrapped in a long serapa 
and had a big Panama hat pulled well down over his 
eyes, 


PHIL CONWAY. 


II3 

^‘To our arrangements Don Diego made no comment 
except a shrug of his shoulders and a muttered 
'Caramha, it is hard that I, an old patriot, should have 
to sneak from my native land as an American ab- 
sconder.' 

“Then Bostwick and I each took him by an arm and 
led him down to the emharcadero, followed by Manuel 
bearing their little baggage, and Dona Sofia and 
Lucia. We wended our way unobtrusively through 
a lane in the cocoanut trees, not following the principal 
street; but the detective’s manner and mien in case 
inquiring eyes were turned upon us gave us the ap- 
pearance of conducting a prisoner to put him on board 
the New Orleans steamer. A rowboat, waiting for us, 
manned by four American sailors, took us immediately 
off to the steamer, and the General gave a sigh of relief 
as he stepped on board the Baton Rouge, and saw the 
flag of the United States floating over him. 

“Still we were in Guatemalan waters, and Morazan 
being a citizen of the country and not a passenger en 
route from some other port, could scarce legally claim 
its protection, at least not until we were upon the high 
seas. . So we led the old soldier to one of the deck 
staterooms, and thinking it wiser that till under way 
the ladies should not be with him — for which now I 
thank God! — conducted his little daughter and her 
governess to another cabin at some distance from the 
one in which we were supposed to have secured the 
American absconder. 

“This being done, Bostwick left me with the old 
Guatemalan veteran, who, sitting on the side of his 
berth, turned a sad face upon me and said: ‘Don 
Filipo Conway, I want to thank you for what you’ve 
done for me and my child; perhaps more on her ac- 
count, because now, in the sunset of my life, I find I 
have naught to live for but her—not even my country.’ 


PHIL CONWAY. 


II4 

He waved his hand sorrowfully towards the -(focoanut 
trees on the shore that were nodding to the 4ea breeze, 
and tears stood in his brave old eyes as h/ murmured : 
‘I am bidding adieu to Guatemala foreve// 

“ ‘Don’t think that, General,’ I observed cheeringly. 
‘This political storm will blow over and then you will 
return.’ 

“ ‘No,’ he replied moodily. ‘Something tells me that 
this will be the last day I shall look upon my native 
land. I don’t suppose that they would have hunted me 
down so persistently except that I have a large sum of 
money in the hands of a trustee in New York City. 
This was demanded from me under the name of a 
forced loan!’ He rose and uneasily paced the little 
stateroom, muttering : ‘I’ll never be taken back alive to 
be tortured into surrendering my child’s fortune ! 
When do you think this boat will sail ?’ he asked anx- 
iously. A moment later the old hidalgo startled me 
by saying : ‘Do you know, somehow or other I imagine 
that after all I shall not escape?’ 

“ ‘Oh, nonsense I’ I answered. ‘You’re practically 
all right now.’ 

“ ‘There’s an old Spanish proverb that “good liquor 
is often spilt betwixt the flagon and the lips,” ’ he re- 
marked. ‘However, you’ve done everything possible;’ 
then ejaculated: 'Santa Maria, what’s that?’ 

“ ‘Oh, that is the arrival of the Wanderer, Hear 
her whistle I She’ll lie inshore of us ; she doesn’t draw 
as much water as we do. In less than an hour from 
now we’ll be under way.’ 

“ ‘Ah, yes, the steamer from Izabal,’ assented the 
old gentleman, looking through the port-hole. A mo- 
ment later he sprang up and whispered : 'Diablo, troops 
on board the Wanderer! See the uniforms ! For what 
do they come from the interior? For me! That’s 
why they are here! Don Filipo, you have not saved 


PHIL CONWAY. 


II5 

the old man !’ adding in determined significance : ‘But 
they will never get the money. She has my papers !’ 

“Almost before I could reflect upon his curious 
words, the General said hoarsely, yet very calmly : ‘Be- 
fore they come I want to bid my child good-bye !’ 

“ ‘Why, there’s no danger,’ I dissented ; but he, not 
heeding me, repeated : ‘Before they come, one kiss to 
my child !’ 

“This was said so entreatingly that I hurried to the 
ladies’ stateroom and brought Lucia to her father, and 
stood before his cabin door to give them privacy. What 
passed between them I do not know, though it was 
quite short, being interrupted by the splashing of oars 
approaching the steamer. Hastily opening the door 
of the stateroom, the old man, pressing a long, linger- 
ing, tender kiss upon the pretty child’s lips, com- 
manded : ‘Take her away !’ 

“ ‘Papa, why is your face so sad ?’ she faltered, nest- 
ling to him. 

“ ‘Take her away ! Lucia, you must leave me. Good- 
bye, mi querida! Perhaps all will be well,’ and the old 
General bravely waved his wrinkled hand — though his 
eyes never left his daughter as I led her back to her 
room. Here, even as I put Lucia in, the German gov- 
erness, stepping out, excitedly whispered : ‘I see 
soldiers coming. Does that mean that they’re hunting 
Don Diego?’ 

“ ‘That I cannot tell,’ I replied. ‘But don’t let the 
child out of that stateroom until the affair is over.’ 

“ ‘Yes, I’ll lock the door upon her,’ said the German 
girl with great presence of mind. ‘But it cannot be 

possible there is danger — all seemed now so safe ” 

Intense nervousness had made her face flushed rather 
than pale. But I could not stay with her and hurried 
back to the General. 

“ ‘They’re coming aboard, I told you so,’ muttered 


PHIL CONWAY. 


116 

Don Diego to me, as I entered his stateroom. Then 
he drew his two big revolvers from his belt as a boat 
full of barefooted soldiers hooked on to the side ladder 
of the vessel. 

‘T could hear the Yankee captain expostulating at 
the gangway and the quick commands of an officer in 
Spanish, accompanied by the noise of soldiers clamber- 
ing upon the deck. The next instant the voice of the 
American sailor rang out : 'Damn you, you shan’t 
search this American ship !’ 

" ‘But we will. These are Guatemalan waters and I 
ha-ve orders from the Presidente. There is a fugitive 
on your ship !’ 

“ ‘Well, there’s only one on board, and he’s being 
sent back to the United States; that’s Saxon, the ab- 
sconder,’ asserted the captain of the steamer coolly, 
‘but anyway, you shan’t look for him !’ 

“ ‘I want no Americano. I have orders for a rebel, 
and he’s on board. This boat man Pablo, from Panzos, 
tells me he saw him brought to your ship and put in 
this stateroom, not an hour ago!’ 

“The tramp of the soldiers told me they were com- 
ing straight for our stateroom. With a muttered curse 
I stepped out and, closing the door, stood in front of 
it upon the open deck of the steamboat. To the Guate- 
malan officer, who would have brushed past me, I said : 
“You can’t go in. Pm an American detective. This is 
an American steamer. I have an American prisoner 
in there. He’s incommunicado and shall not be inter- 
viewed 1’ 

“ ‘Show him to me 1’ 

“ ‘I cannot permit you.’ 

“'Diablo, I remember you now!’ said the Guate- 
malan officer. ‘I’m El Capitan Gurmanito. Two days 
ago, you came down from Coban into Panzos alone. 
You had no prisoner then. In fact you announced 


PHIL CONWAY. 


I17 

yourself an American railroad engineer. Step aside, 
senor !’ 

. “ ‘Not a single step !’ 

“ ‘At your peril, Americano !' Gurmanito waved his 
hand; his men were advancing on me, their gun-locks 
were clicking ominously, when the calm voice of the 
old veteran was heard behind me, saying tersely : ‘Don 
Filipo, you’ve done all you can for me. I cannot per- 
mit you to risk your life for me!’ and Don Diego, 
stepping from his stateroom tossed away a half-finished 
cigarette and stood confronting the Guatemalan cap- 
tain and his troops. 

“Then — I can’t bear to think of it even now — it was 
too horrible ! To him the officer said sharply : ‘I 
know you, Don Diego Morazan. I have my orders 
for you, rebel and traitor, dead or alive !’ 

“ ‘Rebel and traitor — not to my country I’ answered 
the old man, ‘and not alive!’ His revolver spoke 
quickly, a spurt of blood flashed from the uniformed 
shoulder of the officer, and one of his men fell down 
on the deck. 

'“Fuegof ordered Gurmanito. ‘Fuego!’ he repeated 
hoarsely, for his men, looking on the white headed 
General, hesitated. 

“Then a volley rang sharply out and poor old Mora- 
zan, with half a dozen death wounds, lay gasping his 
life out on the deck of that American steamboat. 

“Obeying a signal from the officer, two men, even 
as he died, were hastily searching Don Diego and re- 
moving what papers they found from his body; an- 
other had sprung into the stateroom and seized the 
saddle bags the General had brought with him; but 
they were interrupted by the Yankee skipper coming 
down from the bridge, cursing the soldiers for mur- 
derers. 

“Wiping the blood from his shoulder, the Captain 


ii8 


PHIL CON WAV. 


muttered : ‘My orders — I obey them. He resisted 
arrest. I am only responsible to my superior officers.' 

“But I scarce noted this. A greater horror was upon 
me. The shrieks of an orphaned child were ringing in 
my ears from the neighboring stateroom, from which 
Doha Sofia came running. Throwing herself upon 
the body of the dead General, she screamed: ‘My 
husband, my murdered husband!’ Then noting the 
astonishment on the surrounding faces she said more 
calmly: , ‘I have a right to call him that. I have the 
priest’s lines up in the mountains that made me the 
wife of Don Diego Morazan, but now — his widow 1’ 
she wrung her hands, kissed his pale face, and shud- 
dered. 

“Looking upon this scene, the officer said shame- 
facedly: ‘I was compelled to do my duty. Tell the 
widow we will not interfere with his body 1’ and so went 
over the gunwale and down the side ladder, followed 
by his men, into the boat ; the American captain leaning 
over his taffrail and cursing him for an assassin and 
saying that his country would have vengeance for the 
outrage on the flag. 

“I did not pay much attention to this; I had a half 
fainting woman to take care of, for Dona Sofiia seemed 
now to grow frenzied in her bereavement; but Bost- 
wick and I finally lifted her from the body and took 
her to her stateroom. 

“As we opened its portal Lucia, who had been batter- 
ing on the door inside, sprang out of it and ran through 
our detaining arms out on the deck wildly calling: 
‘Papa, papa, where are you?’ and so stumbled and 
fell over the bloody thing that had caressed her bu^ 
five minutes before. At first she did not seem to realize 
what had happened, and kissed and fondled the pale 
face — then shrieked : ‘Killed 1’ and sobbed : ‘Alone, 
alone in the world !’ and fought with us as we tried to 


PHIL CONWAY. 


I19 

carry her away from the dead thing she loved. Finally 
we got the child to her stateroom, Doha Morazan even 
in her grief trying to soothe her and putting her arm 
about her- and whispering that she would be a mother 
to her. Then the skipper and Bostwick and I went 
forward and held a hasty consultation on the bridge. 

“Bostwick said rapidly : ‘Captain, if you’ll hold your 
vessel an hour Til take the body on shore and Sands 
and I will see that the General has proper sepulchre.’ 

“ ‘Yes,’ answered the sea-dog, ‘but I’ll get up our 
anchor and keep under quick steam. I’ve sailed in 
Central American waters before and you never know . 
what these Dagos’ll be at.’ 

“As I stepped to th-e side ladder to accompany the 
detective he turned to me and said warningly: ‘You 
stay on board, Conway. On shore the Guatemalan 
troops would make it extremely hot for you. Reckon 
that devil, Pablo, by this time, to save his own yellow 
skin, has told ’em how you brought Morazan down 
from Panzos.’ 

“Fortunately I heeded the detective’s advice, for in 
less than twenty minutes Bostwick came rapidly on 
board again and whispered to the skipper : ‘Get under 
way and out of this harbor quick, or they’ll make more 
trouble for Mrs. Morazan!’ 

“ ‘Right you are,’ said the Yankee skipper, whose 
passengers were all on board, thank goodness, and with 
white faces were grouped about discussing the tragedy. 
He gave the signal to the engine-room, and was just in 
time, for even as the propeller revolved and the Baton 
Rouge • got under way, we saw from shore a boat 
loaded with soldiers making for us. 

“Noting that we were under headway, this boat 
turned back, as Bostwick said with a grin: ‘Those 
Dago soldiers made it hot even for me. They hadn’t 
found the papers they wanted, either on the bed^ 


120 


PHIL CONWAY. 


the General or in his baggage; that’s the reason they 
were coming out to seize the widow and the orphan. 
It’s just as well we’re out of this, especially you, Con- 
way. The Guatemalan officers talked very ugly about 
you on shore. And here’s a curious thing. This Captain 
Gurmanito who commanded the killing party, proudly 
announced that he would have promotion for the deed, 
but said right in my face that you had been so cursed 
cunning about the affair that he would have never 
have thought of following Morazan to this place, but 
for a fortunate telegram that came from Coban to 
Salama, five or six days ago, stating that the fugitive 
would surely try to leave the country by the New 
Orleans steamboat from Livingston, and that if he got 
there in time he would certainly capture the fugitive. 
But what’s the matter with you?’ muttered the detec- 
tive. ‘This affair has been too much for you, Conway.’ 

“For I had grown very pale. 

Bostwick’s words seemed to surge in my ears, and 
the deck of the ship, though reddened by the setting 
sun, grew dark to me as I realized to my horror that 
it was my devilish telegram, the one I had got the Jefe 
Politico to send to Salama in order to put Bostwick and 
Sands off the track of the absconder Saxon, which had 
doomed poor old Don Diego Morazan to death and 
made his little daughter an orphan. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


THE LITTLE FLAT ON FIFTY-EIGHTH STREET. 

“All that night I paced the deck of the Baton Rouge, 
for the subdued sounds of grief that issued from the 
stateroom occupied by poor little Lucia and the widow 
of Morazan, seemed to reproach me for having brought 
their awful misery upon them. 

“Throughout the voyage I saw nothing of the or- 
phan. Doha Sofia, when she casually met me — but 
that was seldom as neither she nor Lucia came into 
the dining saloon for their meals, and I kept away 
from them smitten by the awful accident that I had un- 
wittingly by my telegram produced — said that the 
child was too ill to leave her stateroom. 

“So I did not see Lucia again until five days after- 
wards in New Orleans, when I received a short note 
from Doha Morazan asking me to call upon her at the 
St. Charles Hotel. Here in a private parlor I found the 
widow, looking extremely handsome, a black princess 
mourning robe setting off the lines of her remarkably 
fine figure. Though her face was pale, her deep brown 
eyes were very bright, as she extended to me a firm 
white hand which was quite cold to my touch, though 
she pressed my fingers warmly. 

“ T have sent for you, dear Mr. Conway,’ she said, 
using the American form of address, ‘as I feel that 
some explanation as to the reason why General Mora- 
zan did not mention to you that I was his wife, is due to 
my own good name. We were married by the curate of 
the little Indian village of San Bernardo, within two 
days after leaving the capital. Our nuptials had been in 

I2I 


122 


PHIL CONWAY. 

contemplation for some time and would have taken 
place in Guatemala City, but Don Diego was compelled 
to fly so suddenly. At the first opportunity he urged 
upon me that I should take his name, not only to make 
him happy but to prevent scandal, as we would have to 
travel to the United States practically alone, little Lucia 
being too young and too innocent a companion to save 
us from the comments of the world. The reason the 
General did not announce me as his wife to you was 
that I was carrying his private papers on my person; 
that if I became known as Madame Morazan in Guate- 
mala, and the emissaries of the Government seized Don 
Diego, not finding upon him the documents they 
wished, they would doubtless suspect that his wife was 
concealing them for him and arrest me also. As it was, 
you know that failing to find what they expected on 
poor Diego’s body, the troops were about to come back 
and search me. This paper is confirmation to my 
words.’ She extended to me a certificate of marriage 
between Sofia Whenclause and Diego Jose Morazan, 
certified to and signed by the curate of San Bernardo. 

“On my speaking to her as delicately as possible of 
her finances Dona Morazan said : ‘That need give you 
no thought, tliough thank you for it, dear Mr. Conway. 
The General has left us well provided for. He had 
considerable funds in the United States. Probably 
there is a will in New York also, in the hands of his 
agent, for I know poor Don Diego feared for some 
considerable time that he would be compelled to leave 
his country and take refuge in another land.’ 

“On my mentioning Dona Lucia, Sofia remarked: 
‘The child has been sick, and I hesitated to permit her 
to see you, fearing it might revive the awful incidents 
of her father’s death.’ As she spoke, however, Lucia 
came running in to us from the neighboring bedroom 
with pale face, but brilliant eyes. ‘I must see Don 


PHIL CONWAY. 


123 


Filipo, mamma, even though you don’t think it wise,’ 
she said excitedly: ‘I want to thank him because he 
tried to save my poor father and took me to him 
that I might have his farewell kiss.’ Bursting into 
tears, she would probably have thrown herself into my 
arms, but Madame Morazan restrained her, saying: 
‘Such extravagances of emotion are not considered be- 
coming in America, my child. Lucia is so young,’ she 
continued to me in explanation; ‘she is still almost an 
infant.’ 

“Gazing upon the beautiful girl as she stood before 
me in her simple mourning, I saw that her new mother 
had indeed made her an infant, though she looked a 
most charming one. The skirts of the plain black 
child’s frock scarce falling to the graceful knees, the 
long black silk stockings, and child’s slippers indicated 
that the widow did not wish her step-daughter to ap- 
pear too old. The great masses of lustrous hair, 
braided in a long, luxuriant queue, hung down her 
back to complete her juvenile appearance. 

“The child’s costume did not seem to embarrass 
Lucia. She said unaffectedly : ‘Mamma thinks that it 
is best, now I’m in America, I should be dressed as 
American children. But I’ll soon grow older; old 
enough’ — her eyes blazed up — ‘to avenge the murder of 
my poor dead father; old enough to kill those who 
killed him !’ The passion of the Spanish race blazed in 
her blue eyes; she glared about her as if seeking the 
assassins of Don Diego. 

“This outbreak against her father’s murderers seemed 
for a moment to disconcert Doha Morazan ; she turned 
away her eyes and whispered to me : ‘These Latin pas- 
sions are awful.’ Then said determinedly: ‘Lucia, I 
have forbidden you to cherish this lust of vengeance. 
Were he here, your dead father would not wish it. The 
implacable pursuit of those who have caused his de^ith 


124 


PHIL CONWAY. 


will only bring upon you misery and perhaps even de- 
struction. You think I am wise in this, don’t you, Mr. 
Conway ?’ 

“ ‘Certainly/ I replied. ‘Lucia, you must live for 
the living, not for the dead. Remember, in this modern 
world, that peace brings happiness.’ 

“ ‘Misericordia, you even counsel this, Don Filipo ? 
You are a cold-blooded American. But some day those 
who have destroyed my father shall suffer as they 
make me suffer ! Ah, amigo de mi alma, you sympa- 
thize with me!’ — for this invective had suddenly re- 
minded me of the miserable telegram that I had sent to 
Salama, that had brought death upon her father, and I 
could not look the orphan in the face. ‘And you too, 
dear mamma !’ cried Lucia — Sofia had also turned away 
her head — ‘Ah, both of you will aid me in my ven- 
geance. Manuel told me on shore they said some devil 
had sent a telegram ’ 

“Here, thank God, this scene, which was agonizing to 
me, was closed by the cold, incisive German voice of 
Sofia. ‘Not another word, Lucia!’ she said impera- 
tively. ‘Emotion will make you ill. As you cannot 
control yourself I must take you away.’ Despite some 
faint protests, she led her charge quietly but firmly 
from the room. 

“Returning a few minutes after. Dona Morazan said 
to me : ‘Do you not agree with me that I am wise to 
exert my authority to induce Lucia to let her father’s 
death be a thing entirely of the past? She’s scarce 
fifteen. I’m trying to keep her a child, so that this 
will pass out of her mind quickly, as childish emotions 
generally do. I shall take her to New York and bring 
her up after the European fashion. Her education is 
yet very incomplete, and my best duty to my dead hus- 
band is to improve the really fine mind of his child and 
attempt to take from her the semi-barbarous passions 


PHIL CONWAY. 


125 


that have been nurtured by her early life surrounded 
by the excitement and bloodshed of these awful Guate- 
malan revolutions/ 

“ ‘You’re undoubtedly right, Doha Morazan/ I an- 
swered. ‘Lucia’s true happiness will be in forgetting.’ 

‘Then let me request your co-operation,’ replied 
Sofia gravely. ‘It may seem ungenerous, but I ask 
you not to visit us in New York; at least, not for the 
present. Lucia should for several years attend en- 
tirely to her studies. The sight of you seems to re- 
mind the child of her last few moments with her father, 
to which you led her — and his awful death.’ 

“ ‘Certainly, Madame Morazan,’ I replied reluctantly. 
‘Still, do not hesitate to call on me if I can give you 
aid in any way or be of assistance to Lucia. You are 
in a strange land.’ I handed her my card and addressi 
at the Engineers’ Club. 

“ ‘Oh, I know America very well ; I lived here for 
several years before I went to Guatemala. I am as 
well acquainted in New York as I was in Vienna, my 
native place — perhaps even better. Besides, Don Diego 
has a financial agent in ManhattarT. Believe me, I’m 
just as much obliged to you, Herr Conway, as if I 
took your assistance, though, thank Heaven, I don’t 
need it.’ Dona Sofia extended her well-formed, yet 
cold hand to me and pressed mine gratefully as I bade 
her adieu. The size of a large diamond of the first 
water, glittering upon her finger, indicated that this 
jewel alone would keep the wolf from the door of the 
widow of Morazan for many a day. 

“So I took my leave and departed for New York, 
where I soon became engrossed in speculations of such 
magnitude that bonds and stocks occupied most of my 
thoughts. 

“It was over two years after this that I next saw 


126 


PHIL CONWAY. 


Lucia Morazan. Then she was on an out-of-the-way 
street of the metropolis, carrying a baby.” 

“A what?” screamed Andrus Von Tschudi, who had 
smoked placidly and until now listened to the engineer’s 
tale without comment, though several times he had 
rolled his eyes, apparently taking mental notes. “A 
baby !” he chuckled grimly. “Oho, aha ! Ach du lieber 
Gott, a baby!” 

“Not her baby!” said Conway savagely. “I had be- 
come rich by this time — I’ll tell you about that after- 
wards — and with a fortune generally comes an auto- 
mobile. Late one afternoon I had left my machine at 
the station on West Sixtieth Street for some repairs — 
these motors are always getting out of order — and my 
return walk to my club took me through a portion of 
the West Side, respectable enough but by no means 
opulent. Passing along West Fifty-eighth Street my 
attention chanced to be directed to a girl of wondrously 
graceful figure, carrying in her arms an infant which 
seemed too heavy for her slight strength, as the brat 
was a lusty one and kicking and squalling. 

“A glance and I stepped beside her, ejaculating 
eagerly : ‘Lucia !’ For a moment she looked at me in 
a bashful, half-frightened way; then her eyes lighted 
up with a smile of recognition, and she said: ‘Oh, 
Don Filipo, at last !’ 

“ ‘What are you doing here carrying that child ?’ I 
asked. 

“ ‘Oh, this is my little brother, Jose.’ 

“ ‘Your little bro — brother?’ 

“ ‘Yes, the child of my father. Mamma, after we 
came to New York, had a little baby, my dear little 
brother. Isn’t he pretty?’ She patted the squalling 
child’s face and laughed: ‘Did you think I was a 
nurse girl?’ 


5?HIL CONWAY. 


i2^ 

“I glanced at the urchin. He was not fair like his 
sister, but had dark, almost Italian eyes. 

“But in my surprise at this, to me, exceedingly 
curious announcement I was perhaps not very critical 
in my inspection of the youngster; I had eyes only 
for his sister. Though over two years had been added 
to her age, Lucia was still dressed almost childishly. 
A poor frock, whose scant skirt showed an immensity 
of cheap cotton stockings, emphasized the beautiful 
lines of the girl’s figure, that was now assuming its 
womanly development. The adolescent scantiness of 
her garb seemed to embarrass Lucia ; she grew red in 
the face, hung her head and muttered nervously: 
‘Mamma doesn’t wish me to assume young-ladyhood 
till I’ve finished my education.’ 

“To my eager questions she said: ‘The agent of 
papa after we arrived in New York turned out to be a 
thief; he stole nearly all of the money that papa left 
to us. It made us quite poor. Oh, not so poor that we 
have suffered,’ she added, for I had broken out eagerly : 
‘Why did you not tell me of your misfortunes ?’ 

“ ‘Besides, mamma is proud as well as I ; we are 
Morazans!’ she asserted; continuing more placidly, 
after this little outbreak of hidalgo spirit: ‘Only we 
have to live very quietly, and mamma cannot afford a 
nurse girl; so I am carrying little Jose for his fresh 
air.’ 

“After that I didn’t say anything more about finan- 
cial aid, but simply asked if I could accompany her 
home. 

“ ‘Why, of course,’ she replied brightly. ‘Mamma 
has forbidden me to listen to the conversation of gentle- 
men in the street; but you are different, Don Filipo. 
I’m sure she will be delighted.’ 

“At her words, I picked Jose, who seemed a heavy 
brat, out of the girl’s arms, and walked by Lucia’s side, 


128 


PHIL CONWAY. 


she chatting to me unafifectedly of her life in New 
York. ‘When we first came to this great city/ she said, 
‘mamma thought it best to give me practice in English, 
that I should be sent to a boarding school. We had 
money then, we hadn’t discovered the rascality of the 
agent. I was at Miss Dodge’s fashionable academy 
a year. During that time dear little Jose was born. 
Then mamma — we had grown poor — was compelled to 
take me from school, and when I came back to her 
I found that I had a dear little brother.’ 

“By this time we had reached her home in a clean 
but very poor flat on West Fifty-eighth Street, quite 
near the North River. Here I met Dona Morazan, in 
her scantily furnished parlor looking as handsome and 
as young as ever. Despite her financial misfortunes, 
her dark Viennese eyes seemed to be full of resolution, 
even hope. To my proffered aid Dona Sofia replied 
gratefully but uncompromisingly that she could take 
no assistance whatsoever from me. ‘I have not even 
been compelled to part with this jewel, the last gift 
of my husband,’ said the widow, noticing that the 
superb diamond had caught my glance. ‘We have 
enough to live on, Lucia and I and my little boy.’ 
A slight blush emphasized the mother’s mention of her 
child. ‘Though unable to hire teachers for Lucia, I 
have myself personally educated her. She plays the 
piano and guitar beautifully; speaks French and Ger- 
man about as well as I do, and reads and writes Eng- 
lish as if it were her native language. Qf course later 
on — I have now some hopes that things will become 
financially better with me, as I have succeeded in get- 
ting a little money from jewels and other nicknacks that 
the agent did not steal, and have bought, on margin, 
some stocks and bonds that have increased in value — 
I shall try and give Lucia a better social standing, one 
more in keeping with the honored name that she bears. 


PHIL CONWAY. 


Then I might perhaps, in a social way, ask your aid.’ 

“Most of these revelations were made while Lucia 
was putting her little brother to sleep in an adjoining 
bedroom. As I took my leave, the handsome* widow 
didn’t invite me to call again ; but Lucia, despite some 
whispered protest, I think, from her mother, did. She 
darted impulsively into the little hallway after me, held 
out her slight hand and said : ‘You must come and see 
me, Don Filipo, you must! It is the only thing that 
links me to my old life !’ Lucia’s blue eyes grew pathe- 
tic. In her childish garments her exquisite figure was 
like that of a pleading nymph. ‘‘I’m — I’m so alone!’ 
she faltered dolefully. 

“That settled it with me. 

“Though I think at first Dona Morazan did not look 
with favor on my visits, I became gradually an habitue 
of their little flat. Lucia’s formal ‘Don Filipo,’ soon 
changed to colloquial ‘Phil,’ which sounded very nicely 
from her sweet lips; Sofia herself sometimes address- 
ing me as Philip. In short, I became the friend of the 
family. What I could do for them in the way of 
presents that didn’t hurt their pride I did. I also gave 
Madame Morazan my advice in stocks — she was always 
questioning me eagerly about securities, as I was now 
a member of the New York Stock Board. Soon, for- 
tunately, I made quite a lucky turn for her, that en- 
abled die widow of Don Diego to hire a nurse for little 
Jose and relieved Lucia of his care. During this time 
I found Sofia always kind to her charge, though in a 
motherly way she insisted on Lucia’s obedience and 
kept her close at her studies. 

“The only harshness I ever noticed was in regard 
to Lucia’s education. I called one afternoon and did 
not see her. A day or two afterwards, however, Lucia 
explained the matter to me. ‘I was sorry that I could 
not receive you the last time you came,’ she said ; then 


l^HIL CONWAY. 


130 

hung her head and murmured shamefacedly: ‘I had 
been careless about my English writing lesson, and 
mamma insisted that I should finish it.’ 

“‘You have writing lessons still?’ I asked, remem- 
bering Madame Morazan’s remarks as to Lucia’s per- 
fect command of English. 

“ ‘Oh, not ordinary writing lessons, but business cor- 
respondence. Look, ink-stained fingers!’ She half 
laughed, as she held up a couple of pretty digits and 
ran on : ‘I may have to earn my own living some day. 
Perhaps by being a. typewriter, who knows? Sofia 
thought it right that I should know something about 
business letters. But I’m sick of business letters,’ she 
jeered petulantly, ‘I’m tired of writing by the ream : 
“Arturo Enrique Vannez, Esq., No. 62 Cedar Street, 
N. Y. City. Honored Sir : Please sell for me the 
$50,000 of Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe’s General 4’s 
that you hold for my account at market rate and deposit 
the proceeds at the Chemical National Bank to the 
credit of — — ’ 

“The incisive German voice of Sofia interrupted the 
girl’s babbling from the neighboring bedroom — the flat 
was very small — ‘Lucia, don’t make a jest of your 
studies. If you do, I shall not let you ride to-morrow 
afternoon with Mr. Conway and myself.’ 

“The chance of losing a park-excursion in my Pan- 
hard stopped Lucia’s pretty lips, and she said no more 
about her writing lessons. By this time it was summer 
and I had got into the habit of taking Dona Morazan 
and Lucia on afternoon rides in my automobile, sup- 
plementing these excursions by dinners at the Casino 
in the Park and sometinl*es at Sherry’s and Delmon- 
ico’s. Occasionally, I invited them to the theatres, for 
I had grown quite proud of my charming protegees. 
Madame Morazan, though she often spoke of poverty, 
seemed to be able to afford a handsome gown or two 


PHIL CONWAY. 


of the latest mode, and the childish frocks of Lucia, I 
presume, didn’t cost very much, for Sofia still kept her 
daughter in short dresses and insisted that Lucia’s 
magnificent hair should be done up in juvenile pigtail. 
I also drifted into taking family dinners with them in 
their little flat. 

“To my first advent into her New York life I think 
the handsome widow was rather opposed; afterwards 
she grew quite complaisant, and one day, as we were 
seated at her dinner table, where we all waited mutu- 
ally one upon the other, she laughed : ‘Why, we’re quite 
a family party, aren’t we, Phil?’ It was, I think, the 
first time she had ever addressed me by by Christian 
name. ‘The people in this flat-house make remarks 
about us, do you know ?’ she continued, an amused em- 
barrassment in her voice. ‘They think that ’ she 

shrugged her statuesque shoulders that gleamed like 
tnarble beneath the muslin of her summer robe and 
looked down diffidently. 

“ ‘That you are married !’ interjected Lucia, savagely. 
‘And that I am your daughter ! That’s what they think 
of me — a child ! You keep me in these miserable short 
frocks !’ 

“ ‘Remember, Jungfrau, that until you finish your 
education and come out in society, you are a child,’ said 
her mother sternly. 

“ ‘Come out in society ! That’s impossible when we’re 
so poor !’ pouted Lucia. ‘It drives me crazy to be al- 
ways writing about stocks and bonds, copying those 
business letters that you set for me, mentioning securi- 
ties and money, and always writing to that eternal 
Arturo Enrique Vannez as if I were an heiress, when 
you are compelled to dress me in dimity from Macy’s 
at fifteen cents a yard — not much of it either. Dios 
mio, if I didn’t have on silk stockings, when I go to 
Sherry’s I should die of shame !’ She gave a bashful 


132 


PHIL CONWAY. 


scowl at her graceful ankles, burst into tears and fled 
to her chamber. 

“Sofia had made no attempt to interrupt this tirade. 
She now astounded me by saying: ‘If you think it 
wise, Philip, we’ll put Lucia in long dresses.’ 

“Embarrassed by being made a party to her domes- 
tic arrangements, I stammered: ‘Cer — certainly.’ 

“I called a few days after ; Lucia was tripping over a 
long train. 

“ 'Caspita, last night I made a bonfire of my baby 
clothes,’ she said spitefully. 'Santa Maria ' — Lucia 
sometimes uses Spanish expletives when she is ex- 
cited — ‘at last I am old enough to be loved !’ 

“I soon discovered that Lucia was old enough to be 
loved — so did she ! This was not wonderful, the girl’s 
beauty of face, figure and manner was now so great. 

“One afternoon I found the young lady in tears; 
though she would not tell me the reason. Sofia, who 
was in the parlor with her, said : ‘Lucia has had an 
offer of marriage.’ 

“‘From whom?’ I faltered. 

“ ‘The young electric lineman who lives across the 
hall, Mr. Johnny Brewster, has asked her hand from 
me. ' He earns a good living; he’s a smart young 
mechanic,’ remarked Sofia, in contemplative German 
business tones. ‘We are so poor, I think it wise to 
accept ’ 

“Here Lucia compelled her attention. ‘What, marry 
him!' she gasped, and her eyes filled with tears. Then 
the fire in them burnt up her tears. ‘You forget who 
I am, mamma,’ she said, haughty as a princess. 

“ ‘Remember we are very poor,’ answered Sofia. 
‘He’s coming for his answer this evening. In our un- 
fortunate financial situation, it is not probable that you 
will get a better offer. I think, acting for your best 


PHIL CONWAY. 


133 


interests, my child, I shall not refuse him. Ah, there’s 
his knock on the door!’ 

“I had been too astonished to say a word. I now 
found my tongue and remarked : ‘Lucia, don’t trouble 
yourself about this young gentleman; I’ll speak to 
him for you.’ 

“I opened the door and a brisk' young mechanic, who 
had apparently put off his overalls and given himself 
a careful evening wash after his day’s labor, stepped 
jauntily in and said in the pleasant up-to-date slang 
of the day: ‘Do I get the goods, Mrs. Morazan? I 
hope you’ve told my gal that I think her the prettiest 
peach in the district.’ 

“He turned admiring eyes on Lucia’s bashful loveli- 
ness which seemed to light up the room. She was as 
red as a nymph wooed by a satyr. 

“ ‘Your girl !’ she faltered. ‘You forget sir, that you 
are addressing the daughter of Don Diego Morazan !’ 

“ Why of course I know you’re a Dago 1’ he said con- 
descendingly. ‘But that won’t cut notice when I’ve 
made ye Mrs. Johnny Brewster.’ 

“ ‘Mrs. Johnny Brewster !’ she screamed at him, ‘I’d 
sooner throw myself in the East River than be Mrs. 
Johnny Brewster, you telegraph mozo!' 

“ ‘Oh, if you have got oh your high horse I can be 
proud too,’ he jeered. ‘Scorn for scorn! I’ll see yer 
bluff ! I’d sooner sit in the death-chair and take two 
thousand volts of Sing Sing electricity than catch on 
to a spitfire like you. You’d be wanting alimony some 
day, you would !’ 

“ ‘ ^ou keep a quiet tongue in your head, young man,’ 
I said, stepping between them. 

“ *You keep a quiet tongue in yours. I won’t take 
any lip from ye, though yer do ride in an automobile! 
You’re sweet on the mother ; you stick to yer line, my 


134 


PHIL CONWAY. 


old reprobate, up-to-date Tenderloiner ! See!’ He 
winked impudently at me. 

“ ‘Leave the room instantly !’ said Sofia rising with 
haughty dignity. 

“ ‘Oh I’m going back to the woods; that’s my motto 
when I’m not wanted.’ But at the door he turned 
savagely to me : ‘You kind o’ think ye’re the walkin’ 
delegate of this flat, don’t ye? But don’t yer try to 
suck that peach, my Wall Street swell’ — he nodded at 
Lucia — ‘for if you try to switch onto the darter. I’ll 
put yer out of business, my dandy stock ticker! You 
stick to mammy; she’s still juicy!’ and Mr. Johnny 
Brewster passed out, leaving a very embarrassing situ- 
ation behind him. 

“Madame Morazan’s face had become crimson; 
Lucia’s from roses had turned into lilies; she sighed 
deeply and left the parlor, but some subdued sobs came 
to us from the dining-room. 

“A moment later Sofia, who was greatly agitated, 
said in a low tone : ‘Philip, this miserable contretemps 
compels me to an explanation that is very embarrassing 
to me.’ She sank upon a sofa and indicated a seat by 
her side. I took it. 

“ ‘Do you know, I will have to curtail your visits 
here — perhaps prohibit them entirely,’ she whispered 
kindly but sadly. 

“I thought of Lucia and glanced at her aghast. 

“ ‘What that wretch has said is what others say,’ she 
continued in broken voice. ‘Your constant visits to my 
flat compromise me in the eyes of my neighbors who 
cannot understand the attentions of a rich man to a 
poor woman. They whisper — I don’t like to tell you’ — 
her face flushed and she turned away her head — ‘they 
whisper that I am, oh Phil, God help me, your mis- 
tress ! You must not come here again I’ 


PHIL CONWAY. 1^5 

“ ‘ril soon put a stop to that scandal/ I said de- 
terminedly. 

“ ‘How ?’ she murmured, and turned to me expec- 
tantly. Her bosom was throbbing tumultuously. 

“ ‘By marrying Lucia,’ I replied promptly. ‘Wedded 
to your daughter no breath of scandal can come upon 
you.’ 

“ ‘That child !’ she half screamed. 

“But by this time I was in the dining room. Bend- 
ing over Lucia, who sat with her face buried in her 
hands, I whispered : ‘You know what that miserable 
fellow insinuated is not true !’ 

“ ‘Of course,’ she answered simply, ‘otherwise it 
would have broken my heart.’ She looked at me wist- 
fully yet tearfully. 

“I had sense enough to take her in my arms and 
murmur: ‘You love me?’ 

“At my question all the blood in her body seemed 
to go into her sweet face, her blue eyes though they 
turned from mine gave me a wild hope. 

“ ‘I’ve loved you ever since you tried to save my poor 
father from assassination,’ she faltered. 

“The very words of her acceptance should have given 
me awful warning. But desire made me forget every- 
thing but that blushing, radiant loveliness had made 
confession to me. 

“At first I think Dona Morazan was rather opposed 
to our engagement. Finally she said to me : ‘Wait for 
a year! Lucia is entitled to some little social experi- 
ence as a young lady before she becomes a matron! 
Now that she is about to marry a rich man, it is dif- 
ferent than if she had wedded a mechanic !’ 

“ ‘Oh, don’t speak of that awful Johnny Brewster!’ 
muttered Lucia. ‘He threatened mi caballerof Then 
she said proudly: ‘But mi caballero can protect him- 
self!’ 


136 


PHIL CONWAY. 


‘‘Despite my impatience, I assented to Madame Mof- 
azan’s proposition. Lucia was quite young enough to 
wait. 

“Once, however, I met the mechanic on the stair- 
way. He looked at me and said significantly: ‘Keep 
your eyes off that gal ! What I say goes. See !’ 

“However, I did not encounter Johnny Brewster 
again ; for quite shortly Madame Morazan left her 
modest little flat. 

“Less than a year ago Sofia proudly announced to 
me that she had become by her own speculations quite 
wealthy, having been very fortunate in the great ad- 
vance of railroad securities. I knew that she had ac- 
counts with several big brokers down town. Then she 
proved it by moving into a handsome house just off 
Central Park West, setting up a very stylish equipage — 
two men on the box and all that. 

“In addition. Dona Sofia suddenly seemed to wish 
her daughter to appear almost older than she was. She 
dressed her in gowns exceedingly mature for her youth- 
ful beauty, but Lucia’s loveliness could carry off any 
kind of costume. In fact, the ladies now seemed almost 
like sisters, though of course Lucia appeared much the 
younger. 

“Surrounded by wealth. Dona Morazan placed Lucia 
in the foreign social set in New York, which was open 
to her as the daughter of an old Central American 
hidalgo. Somehow I think Sofia would have preferred 
Lucia marrying somebody else than me.” 

Here Von Tschudi interrupted hastily a second time : 
“Not on her own account?” 

“You mean because Morazan’s widow would have 
preferred me to woo her?” asked Conway. 

“Certainly ; some of her actions in that flat indicated 
that.” 

“But not after she was rich,” replied Conway. “I 


3PHIL CONWAY. 


137 


am very confident of that. Sofia, with her handsome 
person and reputed fortune, had by this time enough 
admirers of her own ; in fact, she’s at present engaged 
to be married to the German banker, Osterfeldt.” 

“What, another old man?” 

“Oh, no, his son,” corrected Philip, “young Fried- 
erich Osterfeldt, the junior partner. But despite a 
number of other suitors, Lucia never gave me any 
reason to doubt that I had her heart. So it was finally 
arranged that we are to be married next Thursday. 

“Incidentally, a few days ago I spoke to Madame 
Morazan about Lucia’s property. She replied : ‘Lucia 
has practically nothing of her own. What was left her 
by her father was stolen by his rascally agent and trus- 
tee. The scoundrel has no property; it will be im- 
possible to recover anything.’ 

“ ‘Well, I shall look into that after I have the neces- 
sary authority as Lucia’s husband,’ I suggested. ‘Per- 
haps I may be able to get something where you couldn’t, 
Madame Morazan. The statute of limitations does not 
run against a minor.’ 

“ ‘A suit against her father’s agent would revive the 
awful tragedy, and with it the vengeful passions of 
your sweetheart’s Spanish blood. Best to let every- 
thing remain in statu quo,' dissented Sofia. ‘Lucia will 
be happy ; you should be happy ; and it will avoid an em- 
barrassment to me. The newspapers would gossip over 
the matter. It would give them a chance for big head- 
lines : “Revival of the Central American Tragedy — 
Interview with the Young Widow of Don Diego Mora- 
zan.” In them would be made prominent to my young 
and handsome suitor, Osterfeldt, that I was once the 
bride of a man old enough to be. his grandfather. Mein 
Himmel, I think Friederich is jealous enough of little 
Jose even now,’ she giggled uneasily. 

“ ‘Perhaps you are right,’ I assented. An expres- 


138 


fHIL CON WAV. 


sion of relief flashed over her countenance and she mut- 
tered gratefully : ‘I thank you/ 

‘‘But a few days ago I found Lucia depressed, and 
discovered that she felt it a humiliation to come to me 
without a dower. ‘It’s a blow — to my pride,’ she 
whispered, ‘that I am to be a burden on you and prac- 
tically penniless, when poor papa once said to me: 
‘There’s half a million pesos for you in New York on 
your wedding day, my little Lucia.” ’ 

“The magnitude of the sum of which she had been 
despoiled made me furious against the thief. I revived 
the matter again to Madame Morazan and said: ‘As 
soon as I become Lucia’s husband I shall take the neces- 
sary steps to investigate this robber of an orphan and 
if possible force him to disgorge.’ Then seeing that 
she seemed annoyed, I continued : ‘But don’t be afraid 
that I shall make any calls upon your private fortune 
for this litigation or for any other cause. I have plenty, 
thank God, to give my wife more than comfort — even 
luxury.’ 

“Madame Morazan made no particular objection to 
this, except to entreat : ‘Please don’t take any action 
in this matter until after my nuptials. Friederich is 
an urgent lover; they will come shortly.’ And every- 
thing went on very pleasantly. Both ladies called here, 
as you know, yesterday afternoon and I enjoyed a very 
happy hour with them, arranging the details of my com- 
ing marriage. Never did Lucia seem more happy in the 
prospect of being my wife. Last night, as you remem- 
ber, they took me with them to Sherry’s for supper 
after the opera, both ladies appearing in buoyant spirits. 
Of course this wretched accident of my telegram bring- 
ing death to her father has hung over me like a pall 
and has caused me many sleepless nights ; yet had it 
not been for the extraordinary attempt upon my life 


PHIL CONWAY. 


139 


last evening, from which you so fortunately saved me, 
yesterday to me would have been a very happy day. 

“But this afternoon this accursed newspaper thunder- 
bolt struck me. It has made me turn to you for aid. 
It showed me that some one who knows of my accursed 
telegram from Coban means to use it to separate Lucia 

from me ” Here Conway calls out savagely : 

“What the devil do you want?” springs up and opens 
his door, upon which there is a sharp, persistent rap- 
ping. 

A bell-boy steps in and says : “Letter, sir.” 

“Didn’t I tell them at the office not to send anyone 
up?” says Phil sternly. 

The lad answers this by a grin of ten-cent ex- 
pectance. 

“Here !” The stock broker shoves a dime into the 
boy’s hand, grabs the letter from him, pushes him out 
of the door hastily, and tears open the envelope as if 
anxious to toss the whole thing as soon as possible into 
his waste-paper basket. 

“Circular, I suppose?” grins Von Tschudi. But the 
next instant the tremendous effect of the epistle upon 
the young man, for Conway has sunk down at his desk 
holding the letter in his hand, causes the German to 
say : “Mein Himmel, what is it?” 

“A letter,” answers Philip, “that — that threatens to 
destroy every chance that I have of marrying Lucia 
Morazan. Look at the accursed thing. Probably sent 
by the same person who had placed in the papers the 
notice of the postponement of my marriage! They’re 
both in the same line 1” With this he reads in hoarse, 
yet trembling voice : 

“ ‘Senor Filipo Conway, — 

“‘We have learned by the New York journals, with horror, 
that you are about to v/ed Doha Lucia Morazan. How you 
can have the audacity to woo the daughter of the old Guatema- 
lan hero you have murdered, is to us incomprehensible. But 


140 


PHIL CONWAY. 


we swear to you that, unless you desist in your attempt to 
conclude a union that would be an outrage not only upon your 
unfortunate victim, but upon humanity itself, we will make 
known to Doha Lucia Morazan, or her mother, the fact that 
you sent, or caused to be sent, from Coban a telegram to the 
commanding officer at Salama which caused troops to be or- 
dered to Livinp-ston to search the New Orleans steamer, and 
thus brought about the assassination of General Don Diego 
Morazan and made his poor child an orphan. Cuidado!’ 

“It is signed ‘A Friend of Guatemala,’ ” sighs Con- 
way. 

During this startling communication, the German has 
emitted three or four sharp puffs from "his meerschaum. 
He now speaks sharply : “Envelope has no postmark ! 
Delivered by hand. Jump down to the office and find 
who left it !” 

Before the words are out of his lips, the door bangs 
on the American’s hasty exit. 

Picking up the letter from the desk. Von Tschudi 
makes a hasty inspection of it. 

This is interrupted by Conway, who comes in, closes 
the door and says : “The letter was placed on the 
counter of the office by someone of whom the clerk can 
give no description, as he was engaged on his ledger. 
In fact, he didn’t notice the letter at all, though one of 
the bell-boys saw it and brought it up, hoping for a 
tip. The only thing of which the clerk is certain is 
that the letter must have been left here within the last 
five minutes. I see you have been inspecting the devilish 
epistle.” Then he asks eagerly : “Don’t you think the 
party who inspired the newspaper article announcing 
the postponement or breaking off of my marriage is 
the one who sent me this damnable communication?” 


CHAPTER IX. 


A TETE-A-TETE MULEBACK RIDE. 

“At the first glance it looks that way/’ answered Von 
Tschudi, gazing at the epistle and adding dolefully: 
“Typed on a practically new Remington. That is a 
handwriting rather difficult to trace ; worn out machines 
have their peculiarities. All at present I can from it 
make, is that it has been very hastily written apparently 
by a professional, certainly an expert typewriter who 
is out of practice. However, this letter has entirely 
eliminated any chance of your sweetheart being con- 
cerned in that electrical design to slay you.” 

“Pish, I always knew that !” said Conway confidently. 

“Yes, but hadn’t proved it,” remarked the sociolo- 
gist. “Those golden hairs about the wire, they fright- 
ened you, didn’t they? Of course, as Dona Lucia 
doesn’t know of your telegram from Coban she has yet 
no reason for vengeance. This affair is something like 
that of General Barrundia,* the one who was shot on 


*Jose Martin Barrundia, a Guatemalan exile, took passage 
for Salvador on the Pacific Mail steamer Acapulco. Although 
the boat touched at Guatemalamports, he felt secure under the 
American flag, especially since the captain of the vessel of the 
same line had the month before refused to allow Salvadorian 
soldiers to come armed aboard his steamer or to arrest a 
political prisoner who had escaped from their custody. On the 
arrival of the Acapulco at San Jose de Guatemala on August 
27, 1890, the Guatemalan Minister of Foreign Affairs, Dr. An- 
guiano, made a formal demand for the surrender of Barrundia, 
to which the American Minister replied that, if the Acapulco 
was in Guatemalan waters, the Guatemalan authorities could 
exercise their legal jurisdiction, and if it should be found 


142 


PHIL CONWAY. 


the Pacific Mail steamer Acapulco at San Jose de Gua- 
temala in 1890. As you have been talking I recall the 
facts of that tragedy. You remember Barrundia was 
shot under almost similar circumstances to poor Don 
Diego Morazan, on the deck of the American steamer, 
and, if I remember rightly, Barrundia’s daughter tried 
to shoot the United States Minister at Guatemala 
simply for not affording to her father the protection 
of the American flag.” 

At this sinister suggestion Conway winced. 

Gazing at him, the German took a contemplative 
whiff of his pipe and added to his despair by remark- 
ing : “Don’t you think, under these unfortunate circum- 
stances, that it would be best to give up marrying Lucia 
Morazan ?” 

“What ! Resign my hope of calling my darling my 
wife? I can’t do it!” answered the lover distractedly. 
“I was innocent of any intent to bring about her 
father’s taking off. I’ll not have my happiness de- 
stroyed forever by a mere accident !” The strength 
of one who is accustomed to fighting and often win- 
ning the battles of life mingled with the ardent pas- 
sion on his face. 

“Then,” said Andrus, “there’s but one way to pro- 
tect yourself and your future bride, for I inform you 


necessary to arrest General Barrundia while on board the 
American vessel, the United States Minister need raise no ob- 
jection to the enforcement of the law by duly authorized 
officers. 

Capt. Pitts, in command of the Acapulco, had promised 
Barrundia that he would not be delivered up, but notwith- 
standing Col. Torielle and trooos boarded the Acapulco with 
an order for Barrundia’s arrest, and on Barrundia’s making 
resistance shot him dead. 

A few days after the killing of General Barrundia, his daugh- 
ter made an attempt to shoot the U. S. Minister, Mizner, in 
his office at Guatemala City. — Editor, 


PHIL CONWAY. 


143 

candidly from what you have told me of Lucia’s charac- 
ter, with her Spanish blood and passionate adoration 
for her dead father, if she ever discovers you had aught 
o do, even innocently, with the taking off of Don Diego 

r orazan, it will not be kisses that she will give you, 
y young man. Under these circumstances there is 
but one way to protect your happiness and that of 
your coming wife, and that is to bring such pressure 
to bear upon the person who wrote that letter as to 
compel him or her to absolute silence now and for all 
time. The only person, from your narrative, who is 
really certain that it was your wire brought about the 
destruction of Don Diego Morazan, is yourself. Bost- 
wick, the detective, knows that the Guatemalan cap- 
tain received a telegram, but not that you had any- 
thing to do with it. Don Pedro Zaparto — I think that 
was the name you said — the Jefe Politico, if it were 
called to his attention, might possibly recollect that you 
induced him to send the telegram, but he is utterly 
unaware that that telegram brought disaster to Mora- 
zan. Who do you suppose by any misadventure is the 
possessor of your unfortunate secret?” 

Then the contemplative sociologist almost sprang 
from his chair as Conway suddenly answered : ‘T only 
know one, Actia Saxon !” 

“Ah, Mrs. Saxon, the wife of the refugee?” 

. “No, the widow of the refugee.” 

“She is in New York?” asked Andrus eagerly. 
“Certainly. She was the lady for whom I drafted 
the letter in lead pencil that I afterwards destroyed 
and of which you saw a fragment. I myself after 
Saxon’s death brought her back from Central 
America,” answered Philip promptly. 

“Donnerzoetter, you brought the widow back to the 
United States!” 

“Yes.” 


144 


PHIL CONWAY. 


“Tell me all ; there are so many unknown quantities 
in this problem that I must have all the facts,” ex- 
claimed the German, “and if there is a love tale in it, 
don’t try and protect from, your counsellor, Actia 
Saxon, as you did Doha Sofia Morazan! Don’t you 
suppose I know the wiles of young widows seeking 
husbands ? Didn’t I see the fair Sofia, in my imagina- 
tion, treating you to decollete gowns — she has beautiful 
shoulders and handsome bust, you say — and making 
Mademoiselle Lucia a veritable child to prevent her 
inspiring a man’s passion in you? Pah, I’ll bet when 
Sofia murmured, ‘Oh, God help me, Philip, the 
world thinks me your mistress,’ she was so overcome, 
she drooped her handsome head on your shoulder and 
hid her blushing face in your bosom ! Tell me every- 
thing about this other widow, my great business man ; 
tell me all about Actia Saxton.” 

To this discourse, the American had listened, one or 
two grim smiles indicating the accuracy of Andrus’s 
divinations in regard to Sofia Morazan. “I will !” he 
said resolutely, and passed his hand over his brow as 
if to recollect; then startled his auditor by exclaiming: 
“It is this incident that gives me my one ray of hope 
in the matter. There is just a chance that I had nothing 
to do with the assassination of Lucia’s father, that my 
telegram was never sent.” 

“Mein Himmel, the telegram from Coban?” 

“Yes, I have been there since and accidentally 
chanced to learn in that place something that did not 
greatly interest me at the moment, but that now seems 
of such importance that I have already sent two cables 
to Guatemala. This evening’s paper, marked ‘The 
Six O’clock Edition,’ was published at one this after- 
noon. At two I read the article as to the postponement 
of my marriage, and within fifteen minutes thereafter 
my cables were dispatched to Salama and Coban.” 


PHIL CONWAY. 


145 


A slight hope is on Conway’s face, though it grows 
gloomy again as he continues : ‘‘But this typewritten 
letter threatens immediate disclosure to Lucia, before 
^nswer to my wires can arrive. Therefore, we must 
nnd and close the lips of the party who sent it. In 
tliis relation Actia Saxon takes immediate prominence. 
Listen to what I have to say about her. On my arrival 
in New York from Guatemala, just after Morazan’s 
death, remembering my promise to Mrs. Saxon, I called 
at the great banking house of her uncle, Cartwright 
Haswell, in Wall Street. Stating that my business was 
important, I finally got a personal interview with the 
great financier, and presented the draft of his niece. 
On seeing it the banker sprang up hastily and muttered : 
‘Thank God, at last I’ve heard from my poor girl !’ 
Upon my explaining how I had met Actia and giving 
her messages to him, tears stood m the eyes of that 
rugged giant of finance. ‘From the bottom of my heart 
I thank you !’ he said as he wrote a check for the draft 
I had cashed. ‘I pay this with the greatest pleasure in 
the world. But I want to obtain further details from 
you. Won’t you come up and have dinner with me 
this evening at my house, where I am master of my 
time. You know where it is?’ A clerk had stepped 
in to him and whispered that the Superintendent of a 
great railroad had ’phoned asking for an interview at 
once. 

“Everyone in New York knows where Haswell’s 
mansion on Fifth Avenue is. 

“Over a pleasant meal of a few, but perfect, courses, 
for Haswell lives quite plainly, I told him all about the 
unfortunate plight of Mrs. Sa-xon and her husband. 

“ ‘Pish ! As for Roderick Saxon, I don’t care a snap 
of my finger,’ said the great banker. ‘That fellow is all 
bluff ! He carried the plate up the aisle of his church 
every Sunday and bluffed all the lone women of the 


146 


PHIL CONWAY. 


congregation into making him their trustee. He bluffed 
my niece when he took her youth and beauty to his 
forty years of hypocrisy, for I believe the chap couldn’t 
have paid his debts on his wedding day. For Actia’s 
sake. I’ve protected the scoundrel already by proving 
to detectives by my check book that there’s more money 
in not apprehending him than in bringing him here for 
trial. If she’d only leave him I could do something 
for her. Threatens in that poor girl’s hearing to kill 
himself now if the officers get hold of him, does he? 
More bluff ! He said he would commit suicide in my 
private office if I didn’t advance him two million dol- 
lars. I said : “No two million, but I’ll give you ten 
cents to buy ball cartridges to load the empty revolver 
you’re holding to your head.” That bluff didn’t work 
with me. If they put handcuffs on him, he’ll come in 
like a lamb, and ape the saint in the State’s prison so 
well that he’d be appointed chaplain before he’d been 
there a week !” scoffed Haswell. Then he asked earn- 
estly : ‘Do you think Actia’ll leave him ?’ 

“ ‘No,’ I answered, ‘not until he dies. Though I 
don’t think Saxon’ll ever thoroughly recover from his 
fever.’ 

“ ‘Humph, the best thing he can do is to die ; in fact, 
it is the only thing for him to do,’ remarked the banker. 
‘But those who are Actia’s friends are my friends. 
Supposing you tell me what you went down to Central 
America for. I have interests there.’ 

“Whereupon I told him of my examination of the 
Nicaragua Canal. I didn’t say anything about poor 
Morazan; that was too sad a subject with me. Has- 
well’s queries showed me he knew about the Nicaragua 
Canal probably a little more than I did. The man’s 
grasp of everything commercial on the face of the 
earth was wonderful. 

“ ‘Well, you’re out of employment/ he suggested. 


PHIL CONWAY. 


147 


\ 

I can get you a position as engineer on that new rail- 
road that’s projected from the North Pacific to the 
Yukon. Do you want it?’ 

‘No,’ I replied; ‘I’m tired of living in the wilds, I 
think I’ll take a year or two in the center of civiliza- 
tion.’ 

“Then he said : ‘Everyone in New York speculates. 
You would like to do a little in that way? You have 
some money ?’ 

“ ‘A few thousand dollars,’ I answered. 

“ ‘Put every cent you can scrape into Northern Pa- 
cific. Buy it on margin. You can get a lot of it. 
We’ll carry it for you. You can buy it under fifty.’ 

“ ‘You think that it will go up?’ 

“ ‘I know it will ! Every railroad for the next few 
years will rise. Come in to me to-morrow, and I’ll 
steer you.’ 

“Haswell’s manner indicated that he thanked me 
from the bottom of his heart for aiding his beautiful 
niece. Therefore I took his advice, called upon him 
the next day, and got some very valuable hints. Rail- 
roads — this was in ninety-eight — had just commenced 
to boom. Finally the great corner on Northern Pacific 
made me rich — not a multi-millionaire, but rich. I 
bought a seat in the New York Stock Board and re- 
ceived at times some big orders from Haswell’s bank. 

“One day Haswell sent for me. In his private office 
I found the financier greatly moved. I knew it was not 
business, for in making his biggest deals he was ice 
itself. 

“ ‘I’ve a favor to ask you, Conway,’ he said eagerly. 

“ ‘Anything that I can do,’ I replied gratefully. 

“ ‘Well, I want you to go down to Guatemala for 
me. That fellow Saxon is dead and my poor niece is 
alone there. Go and bring her back to me as quickly 
as you can.’ 


148 


1>HIL CONWAY. 


“Of course, such a request was imperative. For- 
tunately I could leave my business without much 
trouble. Ten days found me, accompanied by Manuel, 
in Livingston. The next we journeyed up the Rio 
Duke, and I could not help thinking of poor Morazan 
and his wife and daughter, who, scarcely two years 
before, had sailed with me over this beautiful water. 
At Panzos we mounted mules and four days afterwards 
early in the morning trotted up to Bellinger’s planta- 
tion. His superintendent informed me, with a grin, 
that Charlie was up in the mountains. I guessed where 
and spurred on to the higher Sierras, -to the place that 
was now known as Webster’s plantation. I reached 
the summit where Actia Saxon had bid me adieu and 
looked down into the little mountain valley. The 
palm-thatched hut had been enlarged and the gar- 
den about it had been improved. Riding down the 
trail I encountered Bellinger, coming up it, and, to my 
astonishment, my advent was not very well received 
by Mr. Charlie/ Even as he greeted me he scowled : 
T know very well what you’ve come for. You’re go- 
ing to try and marry the widow.’ 

“ ‘There you’re wrong,’ I replied. “I’ve come from 
her uncle to take her back to the United States.’ 

“ ‘Caramha, I suppose it’s just as well,’ he muttered 
gloomily. T’ve no chance with Actia. Neither have 
any of the others.’ 

“ ‘Oh, there are others ?’ I said. 

“ ‘Hang it, do you suppose that such a woman as 
that could live up here and not have half the men in 
the mountains crazy about her? There’s Pilache, the 
German coffee buyer; Wilson, the English banana 
raiser from the coast; and Gutierez, the big cattleman, 
whose herds roam the great plateaux as far as the Rio 
Saya — her white beauty drives him into a Spanish love 
frenzy. Now that Saxon has been dead ten months 


PHIL CONWAY. 


149 


and she has not returned to the United States, these 
fellows commence to have hopes.’ 

“ ‘Dead ten months 1’ I gasped. 

“ ‘Why certainly,’ said Charlie. ‘Of course I know 
now who Webster really was. I’ve done everything I 
could for Mrs. Saxton with her Indian servants and 
her coffee crop. How was it her uncle didn’t send 
for her before?’ 

“ ‘Because he has only known of Saxon’s death for 
two weeks,’ I replied. ‘Then he dispatched me im- 
mediately.’ 

“ ‘By Jove, that’s very curious,’ remarked Bellinger. 
‘Well, if you don’t mind I’ll turn back with you !’ 

“As he trotted down the trail after me he continued : 
‘The poor girl has had a hard time of it up here, Phil. 
Of course they didn’t make any money. Who could 
with that little bit of a plantation? Saxon was sick 
continuously. At the last he took to drinking. When 
a man has the fever brandy is always a finisher.’ 

“At the door of her house Mrs. Saxon met us, look- 
ing very beautiful but ethereally pale. On my stating 
my business she sighed haughtily : ‘I’m afraid I cannot 
accompany you, Mr. Conway. I telegraphed my uncle 
twice, once immediately upon my husband’s death, then 
two weeks afterwards, and received no answer from 
him. I’m too proud to accept the humiliation of going 
back to him under these circumstances.’ 

“ ‘Your uncle never received those telegrams,’! said. 

“ ‘Never received the telegrams !’ she stammered. ‘I 
— I wish I could believe you, but that’s inexplicable.’ 

“ ‘Still I am certain of it,’ I affirmed, then asked : 
‘How did you send them ?’ 

“ ‘Why, Senor Gutierez kindly offered to take both 
of them down to Coban for me. He often rides into 
that town, so I entrusted them to him.’ 

“ ‘By Heaven, the infernal villain !’ exclaimed Bel- 


150 


PHIL CONWAY. 


linger. ‘If you stayed here he had hopes of winning 
you. He swears ’ 

“ ‘Hush, don’t repeat his words,’ uttered Actia, her 
face though distressed flushing vividly. 

“Here I broke in : ‘The instant your uncle heard 
that you were free to return to America he dispatched 
me to bring you back. His heart is always full of you.’ 
With this I hastily explained Cartwright Haswell’s 
devotion and anxiety for her and his desire to place 
her in her old position in his New York home. 

“Then hope lit up Actia Saxon’s face,. She said 
simply but eagerly : ‘Of course under these circum- 
stances I will go to my uncle at once. It will not take 
me an hour to make my preparations to return to the 
United States ;’ next half sobbed : ‘God bless you, Mr. 
Conway, for taking from me the bitter pang that I had 
lost my uncle’s love — by my devotion to my husband.’ 
A moment after she murmured pleasantly but rather 
bashfully : ‘I’m so glad Cartwright sent you to bring 
me. Journeying with a stranger would have been an 
embarrassment.’ 

“Whereupon Charlie said hoarsely: ‘Just give me 
a few minutes with Mrs. Saxon, Phil !’ 

“I knew what was coming, and walked out of the 
Indian 'hut and sat down by some coffee bushes, gave 
Manuel directions to bait our mules and ruminated upon 
Charlie’s chance of winning the beautiful widow. 

“Apparently it was not a very good one, for I saw 
him riding gloomily away as I returned to the palm- 
thatched dwelling. To refuse to marry a man who 
truly loves her always saddens a woman of real heart. 
Actia was trembling as I entered the hut. She 
whispered eagerly to me : ‘Get us to Coban if possible 
this evening,’ then faltered : ‘Why did you leave him 
alone with me?’ 


PHIL CONWAY. 


I51 

“ To give him his chance/ I observed, affecting 
lightness, for I saw she was nearly hysterical. 

“ ‘You knew he had none,’ she answered simply. 
‘But let us get away from here. I want to breathe the 
air of civilization. This place has been a purgatory to 
me !’ 

“Manuel, aided by a moso, got Actia’s slight lug- 
gage on a couple of mules and we made Coban that 
evening. The next morning, before setting out for 
the coast, I told her that I would step over from the 
Hotel Aleman to the telegraph office and cable Has- 
well of her safety and that she was returning with me 
to New York. 

“ Take me with you,’ she said, and placed a slight 
hand upon my proffered arm. T’d like to inquire if my 
telegrams to Cartwright Haswell were ever delivered 
by Gutierez. Not that I have any doubt now, thank 
God, of my uncle’s love for me. It was perhaps the 
thought that I had lost his affection which made these 
last few months so terrible to me.’ 

“ ‘Quite right !’ I replied. ‘Then I can take you to the 
Jefe Politico. He is honest, and in his official hands 
you had better place the care of the little plantation and 
whatever property you have left behind you. He can 
remit the proceeds of their sale to the United States.’ 

“Therefore together we walked to the plaza^ and I 
stepped with Actia into the telegraph office. There was 
the same bare room in which I had been with the Jefe 
Politico when I wrote that accursed telegram which 
had brought destruction upon poor old Morazan. How- 
ever, the operator, young Hererra, was now at work. 
To Mrs. Saxon’s inquiries, he looked over his dis- 
patches and said that no telegrams whatsoever had been 
received from her in the last year. ‘I keep the cables 
separate; there are but few from any one and none 
from any lady to the United States/ 


152 


PHIL CONWAY. 


“From the telegraph office we walked along the cor- 
ridor of the Government Building and entered the office 
of the Jefe Politico. Don Pedro Zaparto for a moment 
did not remember me. As I introduced him to my fair 
companion the old beau’s eyes lighted up. He was al- 
ways on the lookout for a pretty face or figure, and 
Actia Saxon’s was probably the most engaging his 
eyes had even encountered. 

“ ‘Ah, you are taking this lady to La Republica del 
Norte, and 1 am honored by having her leave her prop- 
erty in my hands. The proceeds of its. sale shall be 
forwarded to the address you have given me in 
America. You can rely upon that on my official words ; 
I am now the chief governing power in all Verapaz and 
have been elected to the Council of Guatemala,’ he said 
proudly. 

“ ‘Humph, I suppose that telegram I got you to send 
made you a favorite with the Government,’ I remarked 
dolefully. 

“ ‘What telegram?’ said Don Pedro musingly. Then 
he woke up and exclaimed : ‘Ah, I remember now, 
about Saxon, the absconder! Dios miot that telegram 
was never sent 1’ 

“ ‘What?’ 

“ ‘Why, that sot Hererra didn’t get out of his ham- 
mock for over a week. His aguardiente was too potent.’ 

“ ‘Well, the telegram was sent,’ I said doggedly, ‘the 
officer of the garrison at Salama received it.’ 

“ 'Caspita, well it may have been ! Hererra is won- 
derfully clever and scientific and his instrument a very 
modern one,’ observed Don Pedro placidly; then he 
suddenly interjected : ‘You had better not stay here 
too long Senor Conway. It was whispered you 
had something to do with getting that traitor Morazan 
to the coast. We don’t want any trouble with the 
United States, and you are my friend. So I’m glad you 


PHIL CONWAY. 153 

are goingf. You leave for Panzos at once ?’ he inquired. 

“ ‘Yes/ I replied, ‘immediately.’ 

“‘That is well, that is right. Don’t come back!’ 
Then the poor old fellow’s heart getting the better of 
him, he whispered : ‘I thank you for what you did for 
one who shall be nameless ;’ and asked cautiously : ‘His 
daughter, Doha Lucia, have you seen her lately?’ 

“ ‘No, not for two years,’ I answered, for that was 
before I had met Lucia in New York. 

“ ‘Well, adios!' said Don Pedro, ‘and you, too, 
honored lady, may you live a thousand years,’ and 
bowed us out. 

“This compelled some explanation to Mrs. Saxon, 
who, as we left the office, remarked: ‘Doha Lucia? 
Oh, that is the little girl at the Theatre of Guatemala. 
I remember you and Mr. Bellinger speaking of her; 
the one who was so fascinating in short dresses. And 
how did that telegram you designed to protect my hus- 
band from the American detectives bring disaster to 
Morazan and political promotion to the Jefe Politico?* 

“ ‘That is a long story,’ I said hesitatingly. 

“ ‘Well, so is our road to Panzos,’ she smiled. ‘You 
can tell it to me as we jog along on muleback.’ 

“We were already in front of the hotel, Manuel and 
our mules were awaiting us, and she was placing her 
little foot in my hand for me to assist her into the 
saddle. A moment later and we rode off down the 
dusty trail towards Santa Cruz. 

“ ‘It’s astonishing how comradeship springs up be- 
tween man and woman in a three-days’ mule ride over 
the wild mountain trails of equatorial America, they 
are so alone with each other, only a palm-thatched hut 
with a few Indians about it, or a little village every 
half a dozen long leagues, with its banana patches and 
orange groves, break an almost primeval solitude. 
This may have been emphasized in our case, for I was 


154 


PHIL CONWAY. 


disposed to do everything in my power to make myself 
agreeable and the lady was extremely gracious, fascin- 
ating and vivacious; every stride of her mule that 
brought her nearer to the great world seemed to in- 
crease Actia Saxon’s spirits. Fortunately, the mule 
path leading from Coban via Tamahu, La Tinta and 
Teleman is the best in all Verapaz; wagons sometimes 
journey over it, so it was wide enough for Mrs. Saxon 
and me to ride abreast. We forgot the discomforts of 
the road in the exhilaration of the exercise and chatting 
of her life in Guatemala. From the tone 6f her conver- 
sation, rather than her v^ords, I began to suspect that in 
the periodical attacks of fever or the delirium of drink 
Saxon must have given his unfortunate wife some hint 
of his real character and that she had lost her respect 
for the man for whom she had suffered so much. We 
had a pleasant little lunch that Manpel cooked for us 
at an Indian hut by the wayside. 

“ ‘The day has passed delightfully,’ she said to me 
as I lifted her from her saddle at Tamahu, which we 
reached about sunset. Here the Indian girls played the 
marimba for us as we sat in front of the cabilda in 
moonlight and wc had quite a pleasant evening. 

“In the next day’s journey, as our mules trotted 
abreast, Mrs. Saxon chanced to turn her vivacious con- 
versation upon the telegram I had induced the Jefe 
Politico to send from Coban to save her husband from 
arrest, asking me how it had brought disaster upon 
General Morazan, the gentleman with the pretty 
daughter. Well, she having the curiosity that we usu- 
ally attribute to her sex, and I having nothing better 
to talk about, under her deft questioning I told her the 
whole story. 

“ ‘It is very unfortunate, that your efforts to avert 
disaster from my husband brought death upon that old 
hero/ she observed sorrowfully. ‘It would be terrible if 


PHIL CONWAY. 


155 


his daughter ever learnt this. With her Latin passions, 
instead of revering you as the friend of her father, she 
might turn an evil eye upon you. I hope you’ve not 
told this story generally, Mr. Conway.’ 

“ ‘No, -you are the only one to whom I have ever 
mentioned it.’ 

“ ‘Ah, then it shall be my secret as well as yours, be- 
cause the wT)rld is such a small place you might again 
meet this young lady,’ she said earnestly. 

“ ‘Thank you for your prudence,’ I replied non- 
chalantly, ‘but I shall doubtless never see Dona Lucia 
Morazan again.’ 

“‘And >T)u don’t care if you do?’ Her question 
carried an insinuation in its tone. 

“ ‘Why, not particularly,’ I answered carelessly. 
‘Lucia is only a very interesting and charming child.’ 
Perhaps I looked at the exquisite widow riding beside 
me more significantly than I intended to, for Actia’s 
face flushed and she turned her head away. As I 
assisted her from her mule, when we stopped at midday 
at Turucu, she seemed slightly embarrassed and diffi- 
dent in her manner to me. That afternoon an unfor- 
tunate scene doubtless added to it. 

“As we rode along, some two or three leagues before 
reaching La Tinta, the sound of pursuing hoofs made 
Actia turn her head. She had been rather in the habit 
of this I noticed since we left Coban always urging me 
to speed and glancing backwards in a manner that re- 
minded me of Dona Morazan during her husband’s 
flight. She grew pale. 

“ ‘What is the matter ?’ I said. ‘Only a horseman 
is coming.’ 

“ ‘Oh I recognize the serapa! It’s Dominique Gu- 
tierez.’ 

“ ‘Ah, the scoundrel who withheld your dispatches to 


156 


PHIL CONWAY. 


your uncle?’ I observed lightly, for I saw she was 
agitated. 

“ ‘Yes,’ she muttered bitterly, ‘who caused me to re- 
main here in barbarism, almost despair, so that I would 
be compelled to listen to his crazy passion.’ 

“ ‘No need of trying to spur away from him,’ I said. 
‘He is so superbly mounted he will overtake these mules 
of ours whether we like it or not. Give me your author- 
ity to deal with this gentleman, and, if he is pursuing 
you. I’ll say a word to him that may stop him.’ 

“She simply nodded her head and rode slightly in 
advance; but I noticed that Actia shuddered as she 
saw me loosening in my belt a couple of big revolvers, 
with which I fortunately travelled in this wild country. 

“As I did so, a short swarthy little fellow, managing 
his steed with the perfection of hor.semanship, rode 
up to us on the full jump. 

“ ‘Caramba, at last,’ he cried, ‘I have overtaken you, 
Doha Webster!’ 

“ ‘Yes, Mrs. Webster is going to the coast with me 
to leave for the United States,’ I remarked. 

“ ‘Diablo, you are the favored one !’ he exclaimed. 
‘I’ve heard of you. You are the one who tried to save 
her husband from being dragged back as a ladron to 
the United States — because you love her 1 It is you she 
has been thinking of since death made her free ! It is 
because of yoUr accursed face she will not look on me !’ 

“ ‘You are entirely mistaken in what you say,’ I an- 
swered coldly. ‘I’m simply the agent of her uncle; 
though it is just as well that I arrived, since you did 
not forward her telegrams.’ Then rage got the better 
of me and I muttered : ‘You damned scoundrel !’ 

“ ‘For Dios, you shall not have her, ladron de mi 
amina!' screamed Gutierez. He had drawn his machete 
and was urging his horse towards me. Probably with 
steel against steel this wiry little horseman would have 


PHIL CONWAY. 


157 


had the best of me ; but inspiration smiting me — I had 
no wish to be tried for murder in Central America — I 
put a bullet, not through the wretch, but through his 
horse. The superb animal fell rolling over Gutierez. 
In an instant Manuel had sprung off his mule and had 
picked up the fellow’s machete, that lay in the trail. 
After a moment Gutierez staggered up, bruised and 
battered, and like nearly all people who fight on horse- 
back, felt helpless when dismounted. He was now also 
disarmed. 

“To him I said: ‘You’ve only a few leagues to 
walk back to Turucu, and you’d better do it, for if I see 
you again I will fill you with more lead that I put into 
the head of your horse, which I was very sorry to do. 
Adios! Don’t steal any more telegrams from ladies.’ 

“So we would have left Senor Gutierez in the trail, 
but of a sudden Actia’s beauty seemed to drive him 
crazy. He fell down on his knees and a horriWe scene 
took place. He commenced to implore Mrs. Saxon to 
forgive him, and wept to her that he loved her so 
madly, that was the reason he had kept her telegrams. 
Then he screamed to her, not to take the light of the 
heavens from him ; that she must be his. He would have 
even run to her, but I placed my mule between them. 
Turning upon me, he raged : ‘Thief of my adored, 
you who tried to save her husband, the ladron, because 
you love her. In your calculating Northern way you 
played the gentleman; perhaps you didn’t even speak 
your love to the wife, but you’ve come to claim your 
reward from the widow. Yet you shall not have her! 
Dios mio — your blood first 1’ Then he sobbed : ‘Come 
back to me, L%iz de mi alma!* and pursued us with 
crazy love words, mingled with bloodthirsty maledic- 
tions — for we were riding from him. 

“During the first of this affair, Mrs. Saxon had been 
pale as a ghost ; at the last the blood had surged through 


158 


PHIL CONWAY. 


her face, head and neck till under the tan of the tropic 
sun she seemed almost like a painted woman. Some- 
how I think the fool’s specious insinuations had made 
Actia wonder if his words were not true. Her eyes 
never met mine during the next two hours; and her 
face was as red as a trumpet flower when, at evening, 
I lifted the beautiful widow from her saddle in front 
of the cabilda in that miserable Indian village of La 

Tinta. And then ” Conway pauses and lights a 

cigar contemplatively. 

‘‘Then?” queries Andrus interestedly. 

“Then the next day, we reached Panzos late in the 
afternoon,” answers Phil, emitting a cloud of smoke. 
“Here, fortunately, we found the City of Belize about 
to sail down the river. On board Mrs. Saxon kept 
from me. When we transferred to the Wanderer at the 
mouth of the Polochic I succeeded in getting a state- 
room for her upon the' larger boat. Under the plea of 
intense fatigue, wh4ch was very natural after her long 
mule ride over the mountains, Actia retired to her 
cabin until we reached Livingston. Here I sent an- 
other cable to her uncle, but discovered that Cartwright 
Haswell had already thought of his niece’s comfort and 
had telegraphed about her to the agent of the line and 
the American Consul. Never before had I been so im- 
pressed with the far-reaching power of this magnate 
of finance. I believe he owned a great deal of the 
stock in this line. The captain’s cabin was immediately 
placed at Mrs. Saxon’s disposal. Until we reached 
Jamaica, I saw but little of my charge. Once, she was 
sitting gazing out on the \\\ue waters as the boat glided 
through the Caribbean, and I ventured to ask: ‘What 
are you thinking of?’ 

“She turned to me, and said coolly: ‘Dressmakers! 
I’ve hardly a civilized garment to my back.’ 

“But after leaving Jamaica in the presence of a 


1>H1L CONWAY. 


159 


greater tiumber of passengers, she permitted her re- 
serve to gradually pass away from her. We became 
the comrades we had been when we left Coban. One 
evening on the deck I found her in tears. I ventured 
to ask the reason. 

“ ‘I was thinking about my — my return to New 
York,' she sighed. ‘What a difference ! I left it a happy 
wife, for at that time I didn’t know that my husband 
had disgraced me. I sometimes feel as if I couldn’t 
look the world in the face again.’ 

“ ‘You must, not only for your own sake,’ I replied, 
but for your uncle’s, and your other friend’s. Your 
husband’s misfortunes ’ 

“ ‘Ah, you are very kind to put it in that way,' she 
murmured. ‘But you always did; even at Bellinger’s 
plantation when you first knew that I was the wife of 
a fugitive.’ She looked* at me gratefully, and added 
simply: ‘After a little time I shall try and forget all 
about the past.’ 

“To this I whispered: ‘Not all about me, I hope.’ 

“ ‘Oh,T don’t associate you with my past, but rather 
with my future,' she answered impulsively; then 
paused, bit her lip and grew almost as red as she had 
been when Gutierez had screamed out that I loved her. 
Perhaps my gaze was ardent; Actia looked extremely 
beautiful in the moonlight. ‘But good night !’ she 
whispered. ‘To-morrow morning we will be in New 
York. Don’t think me ungrateful.’ She extended a 
white hand whose delicate fingers seemed not altogether 
unresponsive as I clasped them. 

“I had cabled Has well again from Jamaica, and he 
met us at the New York landing place immediately on 
our arrival. I don’t think I ever saw a woman quite 
so happy as Actia Saxton when she stood on the North 
River pier and found herself once more in the great 
world again. As for the grim old financier, he acted 


PHIL CON WAV. 


t6o 

as crazily as his niece. As I helped her into the car- 
riage, looking at the magnificent equipage with its 
flunkeys, she murmured: ‘Guatemala seems to me 
simply a nightmare then said to me : ‘You’ll come and 
see me soon, won’t you, Mr. Conway ?’ 

“ ‘Why certainly, he will ! Phil’ll come and dine 
with us to-night!’ answered the banker. 

“ ‘With a great deal of pleasure,’ remarked I ; and 
had a most charming evening with her uncle and the 
beautiful woman, who seemed to step into a New 
York drawing room as easily as if she had never en- 
dured the hardships of a fugitive in Central America. 

“The banker’s reception of me at his house was very 
cordial. 

“ ‘She spent four hours this day at* the dressmaker’s,’ 
laughed Cartwright to me. 

“ ‘And all I have yet to show for it is this imported 
tea gown,’ remarked Actia whose half mourning colors 
contrasted most effectively with the whiteness of her 
exceedingly handsome arms. 

“ ‘Shucks, don’t apologize,’ grinned her uncle. ‘Con- 
way has doubtless seen you in greater dishabille.’ 

“Actia blushed. So did 1. Tete-a-tete mule jour- 
neys in Guatemala bring people very close together 
sometimes. 

“As I took my leave, Haswell whispered to me in 
the hall: ‘We must marry my charming niece off to 
a better man than Roderick Saxon this time.’ 

“Sometimes since then I have wondered if the astute 
old gentleman had any thought of me when he sent 
me to escort Actia back from Central America. Has- 
well was doubtless aware that, notwithstanding his 
wealth, her late husband’s crimes would be a social 
handicap to his niece; and obtaining a suitable hus- 
band for the relict of the outcast Roderick Saxon 
might be difficult. A fact that has certainly been im- 


PHIL CONWAY. 


l6l 


pressed on the fair widow herself who has probably 
shed many bitter tears at the attitude of some of her 
old time beaux and former lady rivals in the realms of 
New York fashion. 

“Of course I, being engrossed in business, had not 
time to run with the smart social set in which Mrs. 
Saxon again took her place, but my acquaintance with 
Actia Saxon was gradually drifting to an intimacy 
which her uncle seemed to favor, when old Haswell 
put the great stock called the American Metal on the 
New York market. It was a lot of manufacturing 
concerns most of which had been bankrupt a few 
years before but had gone to work again encouraged 
by the great industrial wave that was sweeping over the 
United States. Unfortunately I did not believe in this 
enterprise, capitalized at a most enormous figure. 
More unfortunately I told the old gentleman that when 
the proper time came I would probably go short on the 
stock. 

“ ‘If you do,’ he muttered, glaring at me, ‘by the 
great Harry, Til ruin you.’ Then that dogged, persis- 
tent devilish aggressiveness that always actuates Cart- 
wright Haswell v/hen anyone doesn’t agree with him, 
came in between us. We had a quarrel; such a one 
that practically prevented my visiting his house. How- 
ever, I sold the stock short and in pretty big quantities ; 
but unfortunately I committed the error that has ruined 
many men in Wall Street. I acted upon a correct 
proposition before the general world of finance 
guessed I was right; and Mr. Cartwright Haswell 
clipped a portion of my fortune out of me on that deal. 
Though I took in the stock, I put it out again higher. 
Then came another up twist, and this time I would 
have taken in my stock and pocketed my loss and again 
been scalped, but I received an anonymous note. It 
said: ‘Do not cover at least for twenty-four hours. 


162 


PHIL CONWAY. 


rm in a position to know that they find it too expensive 
to put American Metal much higher.’ Well — drown- 
ing men catch at straws — I hung on; the market 
turned, and I recouped a good portion of what I had 
lost. Soon after I discovered that every widow or' girl 
with money of her own had been touted to buy Amer- 
ican Metal common for its dividends. Then I was sure 
the insiders were working off their stock, and I went 
short of it again, this time very heavily. Until two 
days ago the market was drifting gradually my way. 
Then a sudden upturn came, and last night I received 
the note that you took out of my waste basket and I 
presume read.” 

“Yes,” answered Von Tschudi.* 

“Well, here’s another!” Conway produced the note 
he had received the evening before. “It states that 
they will not venture to put American Metal stock over 
forty-five. It touched forty-five to-night.” 

“Aha,” exclaimed Andrus triumphantly. 

“Then it went two points higher and closed in the 
last hour firm as a rock at forty-seven I” rejoins the 
stock broker gloomily. “I dare not cover — I have so 
much out I should hoist the market on myself — I’ve 
got to face the music and a big rise would be very 
serious to me.” 

“You haven’t seen Mrs. Saxon during this time 
since you quarrelled with her uncle?” asked Andrus 
searchingly. 

“No, except a passing bow. Once I walked into her 
box at the Metropolitan Opera House — her uncle never 
goes there — and was treated with such kindness,” an- 
swered Conway, “that I hesitated to go again.” 

“Why so?” 

“First, because I don’t care about sneaking into a 
man’s opera box who has practically forbidden his 
house to me. Next, because in the meantime I had 


PHIL CONWAY. 163 

again met Lucia Morazan carrying little Jose in West 
Fifty-eighth Street, and loved her.” 

'‘Oho, Lucia knew of your having brought back Mrs. 
Saxon from Guatemala — and was jealous of her!” 
grinned the German. 

“She was,” answered Conway, “but only in a pleas- 
ant, childish, Spanish way 1” 

“Jealous in a pleasant, childish, Spanish way ! Herr 
Gott, Himmel, Donnerwetter! daggers in the back !” 
mused Andrus. 

“Well, there’s my unfortunate story,” said Conway 
impatiently. “What do you say to it?” 

The German went to smoking again. 


BOOK III. 

His Magnificent Enemy. 


CHAPTER X. 

THE OPEN TELEPHONE. 

After two or three meditative whiffs of his meer- 
schaum Von Tschudi remarked : “As I have listened 
to your extraordinary narrative I have put away sev- 
eral mental notes, Herr Conway. The first and most 
important is that probably the attempt upon your life 
was made by an entirely different person to the one 
sending you the letter threatening to make revelation 
to your coming bride. For mark my words, if the elec- 
trical attack on you was to prevent your marrying Dona 
Lucia and was made by the sam-e party who sent this 
typewritten letter, at the moment the party attempted 
your murder, he or she could not have known of your 
unfortunate telegram from Coban. Why take the risk 
of the electrical chair, when possessed of information 
that would immediately stop your nuptials with Dona 
Lucia ? In your narrative to me I only see two prima 
facie enemies.’^ 

“Who are they?” asked Conway eagerly. 

“First, Dominique Gutierez.” 

“Pish!” jeered the American. 

“Pish! That is what I say also,” replied Andrus. 
“Had you remained in Central America and a stiletto 
been stuck in your back, I should have said: ‘Gu- 
164 


PHIL CONWAY. 


165 

tierez.’ The other is Johnny Brewster, who threatened 
to put you out of business. Your coming marriage has 
been noted extensively in the newspapers; I myself 
have read about it, not so conspicuously headlined and 
not in as long articles as would have been given to an 
American heiress committing matrimony with an Eng- 
lish peer; but still it has been announced that the 
daughter of the Central American hidalgo is about to 
wed the successful plunger in Wall Street.’’ 

“Still, I don’t think Johnny Brewster figures in this 
afifair,” replied Philip after a moment’s thought. 
“What he meant by putting me out of business prob- 
ably was giving me a slugging if he -was able to do it. 
Lucia has entirely passed from his view and this elec- 
tric lineman doubtless has ‘caught onto’ another West 
Side ‘peach,’ perhaps two of them, by this time.” 

“An electric lineman! That parrot cage is exactly 
in his profession,” replied Von Tschudi, and took two 
or three contemplative whiffs of his pipe. “But still 
I agree with you. Electricians don’t work with scissors 
for tools ! Scissors ! I’d like to match this piece in 
my pocketbook with the rest of the implement. How- 
ever, we’ll leave Johnny Brewster out in the cold for 
the present. But give me Johnny’s address.” 

“Three forty-five and a half West Fifty-eighth 
Street,” said Conway promptly. 

The German thought for a moment and then con- 
tinued : “By the by, you said that Dona Morazan and 
her daughter were here yesterday and that you went 
downstairs to order refreshments for them, being ab- 
sent for about ten minutes.” 

“It may have been fifteen minutes,” remarked Con- 
way. “Sofia asked for a certain brand of wine and I 
went out of the house to get it myself.” 

“What brand was that?” 

“Madeira Bual.” 


i66 


PHIL CONWAY. 


^‘Well, I should think so !” laughed Andrus. “Ten 
dollars a bottle and I don’t believe there are fifty cases 
in all this town. When you returned where were the 
ladies ?’ 

“Oh, Lucia was in this parlor looking at some curios 
that I had brought with me from Central America. 
Madame Morazan was near her, not far from that little 
Central American idol with the grinning open mouth. 
I imagine, though, she had been playing with the par- 
rot hanging out of my bedroom window, for Chico 
was crying : ‘More crackers !’ ” 

“Ah, Chico was alive then !” observed Von Tschudi. 
“When did the ladies leave your rooms?” 

‘^About half-past three o’clock. I had just time to 
catch the 4:10 train for Lakewood,” replied Conway. 

“So you couldn’t have left here more than a quarter 
of an hour before Chico died. Too little time for the 
arrangement of the wire. I think the connection with 
the cage must have been completed before you left your 
rooms.” 

“Haven’t I told you that this attempt on my life is a 
secondary matter to my anxiety in regard to my affi- 
anced?” broke in the American savagely. “What we 
want is to get hold of the person who wrote this in- 
fernal epistle, and stop him telling Lucia what will 
destroy my happiness, yes, and her happiness, for she 
loves me.” An agony lighted up Philip’s eyes, he 
sighed : “How shall we discover the writer of this letter 
and take him by the throat?” 

“By discovering his motive for sending it.” 

“The motive is plain enough,” answered Conway 
testily. “Someone wishes to force me to resign Lucia 
Morazan.” 

“Yes, but who and what causes them to desire it? 
The supposition that some old friend of Lucia’s father 
wrote it in this country far away from Guatemala, the 


PHIL CONWAY. 


167 


scene of the affair, is very improbable. Everything 
points to the author of that letter being intimately con- 
nected with you here in New York. It was delivered 
by hand; no chance of discovering anything about it 
by postmarks on the envelope. Written by a practi- 
cally new Remington, all opportunity of tracing the 
epistle by means of worn-out types, etc., is eliminated. 
Still a little microscopic examination of the document 
will do us no harm.” Von Tschudi places the epistle 
carefully in his pocketbook. “Nowadays paper gives 
no clue of value. Mills turn out such enormous quan- 
tities, the tracing of a writer who uses ordinary sta- 
tionery is like looking for a needle in a hay-stack. 
Therefore, our best and perhaps the only chance to 
find the writer of this letter is to discover him by his 
motive. What we want is some person who is vitally 
interested in preventing your wedding Dona Lucia 
Morazan. That person we will suspect of this letter.” 

“Yes, that’s logical enough,” assented Conway. 

“Then we will turn to the only person whom your 
narrative discloses as possessed of the facts stated in 
that typewritten letter — Actia Saxon — from your care- 
less revelations during your Guatemalan mule ride,” 
remarked Andrus. “Besides, I think she has a motive 
also ; that now, in fact, you’ve got two women on your 
hands instead of one.” 

“You think Actia Saxon loves me?” ejaculated the 
American. 

“Yes. Who else are those anonymous business let- 
ters from ? Who could know so well of the manipula- 
tion of American Metal as the favorite niece of the 
man who controls that stock? Of course, they’re in 
a disguised handwriting; Mrs. Saxon wouldn’t want 
her uncle to know that she had been giving his finan- 
cial secrets to one of his opponents.” 

“Yes, but Haswell doesn’t give his financial secrets 


i68 


PHIL CONWAY. 


to his niece or anyone else,” dissented Philip. “In 
business matters he is as close as his own safe.” 

“Ah, that is the reason I think she loves you, mein 
KnaheT remarked the German astutely. “A woman 
who loves will supreme risks often take to aid the man 
of her heart. Anyway, you can sell for me five hun- 
dred shares of American Metal Common short. I im- 
agine you’ll owe me enough to margin it before long. 
That’s the confidence I have that those anonymous let- 
ters were written by the niece of the man who manipu- 
lates it. Besides, Actia is a sticker !” grinned Andrus. 

“What the deuce do you mean?” 

“Why, even when Saxon was- a fugitive, gave she 
him up ? No ; like glue to him she stuck. Loving again 
she’ll be steadfast the second time. In your narrative,” 
observed the German, “I imagine you’ve also her pro- 
tected as you did the widow of Morazan. It is the trick 
of a gentleman, and for it you I honor. But don’t tell 
me, my young man, that you could take a tete a tete 
journey of several days with such a fascinating woman 
as Actia Saxon through the wilds of Gautemala, with- 
out some tender episodes. Oho,” he laughs as Conway 
interrupts him with an impatient gesture, “nothing to 
be ashamed of under the circumstances ! At that time 
you never expected to see the child Lucia Morazan 
again, and Actia was already ten months the widow of 
a man who had made her suffer a martyrdom, and had 
discovered that he was unworthy of her sacrifice. Ver- 
Hiicht! I can see you now, assisting this lovely lady 
from her mule and she lingering in your arms just for 
one emotional moment as she touched the ground! 
With such a handsome woman as Mrs. Saxon in your 
clasp, your heart must have beat against hers quite 
ardently.” 

“You are not crazy enough to think that she had 


PHIL CONWAY. 169 

anything to do with the attempt on my life?” sneered 
Conway. 

‘‘Oh, no. Actia has a better method of stopping 
your coming nuptials. As you have already observed, 
women don’t want to marry dead men, and if Mrs. 
Saxon wishes to prevent your marriage, it is only that 
she may take the place of the coming bride! Her 
knowledge that you are connected with the death of the 
father of your affianced gives her the power, even at 
the altar, to separate you and Lucia Morazan. It would 
be a weapon cruel enough, even if Actia hated you. 
But from your account of her, loving is her forte, not 
hating,” observed the German. “The question now is, 
whether Mrs. Saxon has used the knowledge you un- 
wittingly placed in her hands.” 

“I don’t think she has. She is not of the underhand 
kind,” remarked Conway decidedly. 

“Underhand! What are those anonymous letters 
containing the secrets of the American Metal stock 
she has picked up from her uncle? True she might 
plead that was a sin on account of love. For love she 
might have written this Remington letter.” 

“Shucks, the niece of the great financial magnate 
doesn’t know how to thump a typewriter!” dissented 
Conway. 

“No, and probably that letter was run off on the 
machine by its author in person,” replied Von Tschudi. 
“So we will turn to the only other person, so far as 
we know, who could by any remote possibility have had 
any reason whatsoever for sending you this threatening 
communication.” 

“Who’s that?” asked Phil eagerly. 

“Madame Morazan.” 

“Madame Morazan! What does she know of that 
telegram from Coban?” asked Conway astoundedly. 

“Probably nothing,” answered Von Tschudi. “But 


170 


PHIL CONWAY. 


if we cannot reason forward we are compelled to rea- 
son backward. Adequate motive is of vital import 
in all obscure criminal cases. Therefore I am com- 
pelled to scan Madame Morazan. Many of Sofia’s ac- 
tions while living in that Fifty-eighth Street flat in- 
dicated that at that time she had some desire of win- 
ning you for a husband. As your nuptials to her 
daughter have drawn near, that desire may have blazed 
up again to make Sofia wish to prevent your marriage 
to Lucia, from love of you — or perhaps for other 
reasons.” The German emits this last very slowly and 
considerately from between his mathematical lips. 
‘T have listened to what you said about Sofia to-day 
with extreme interest. She seems to have had a 
mother’s kindness to Lucia and in fact generally her 
actions may be attributed to affection for the young 
lady. Despite lack of money she educated her charge 
carefully; that indicates affection; most women would 
have deserted the girl when poverty pinched them. 
True, she wished to wed her to an American mechanic, 
but there are worse lots in this world than being the 
wife of an American mechanic and Madame Morazan 
was then poor and saw no better matrimonial prospect 
for her charge. The German idea is to marry off 
Jungfraus as rapidly as possible. Doubtless also at 
that time Sofia was perfectly willing to remove her 
handsome daughter from your admiring eyes. But 
when Sofia grew rich she gave Lucia the advantages 
of her fortune. It is also natural enough that Madame 
Morazan should not care that an old account she thinks 
hopeless of collection, should be discussed in the news- 
papers to blazon to the world that she was once the 
bride of a man ancient enough to be her grandfather, 
now she is about to mate with young, hot-headed, jeal- 
ous Osterfeldt.” Andrus pauses a moment, then adds 


PHIL CONWAY. 


17I 

musingly: “Yet you’ve told me some rather curious 
things in regard to the fair Sofia.” 

“Yes, I have sometimes thought Madame Morazan’s 
sudden rise to fortune slightly mysterious,” replied 
Conway. “But the increase in values during the last 
two or three years has been so enormous that every- 
thing has been possible in the great boom in stocks. 
I have seen a man borrow the money to buy a privilege, 
and six months afterwards ride about New York in 
his private equipage. Uncommon, but not impossible ! 
Besides, Madame Morazan may not be as rich as she 
seems. Perhaps after she becomes Mrs. Osterfeldt, 
that young banker may find his wife has not so many 
bonds in her safe deposit box as her present style of 
living indicates.” 

“By the by,” interrupted Von Tschudi, “what is the 
name of the rascally agent that robbed your affianced 
of five hundred thousand pesos ?” 

“That I don’t know,” replied Conway. “I spoke to 
Madame Morazan about him yesterday here in this 
very room. She said to me : ‘After you are married I 
will have all the accounts gotten up, go over them with 
you and tell you everything that I know about the rob- 
bery of Lucia and myself, for the scoundrel has 
swindled not only your affianced, but also me and my 
little son !” 

'‘Verdammt, that son is another curious thing — little 
Jose !” smiled Von Tschudi. “Dark Italian eyes, not 
fair like his sister, and the offspring of a very old man 
during a hasty flight for his life! Little Jose is pe- 
culiar I” 

“Very peculiar I” assented the stock broker. “Some- 
times I wonder if the mother loves the child. Sofia 
has put him out to dry-nurse on a farm in the country ; 
said that young Osterfeldt didn’t like to see the kid 
about I” 


172 


PHIL CONWAY. 


“Aha! You don’t know anything of the previous 
history of Doha Sofia — her life before she married Don 
Diego; what she did in New York during the few 
years that she spent here; who she was in Vienna?” 

“No, of that I know nothing.” 

“Very well, that I shall try and discover.” 

“You’ve too little time for these investigations,” re- 
plied Conway hotly. “Doesn’t this letter state that if 
I don’t resign Doha Lucia immediately, revelation will 
be made to her I” 

“Then in that case we must work upon the people 
that are here about us; though I shall send a tele- 
gram to the American Minister at Guatemala asking 
him to cable me the antecedents of Fraulein Sofia 
Whenclause. In addition, will you please discover for 
me the name of the agent who embezzled the estate 
of the late Don Diego Morazan. Don’t ask Sofia ; ask 
'Lucia if she knows. You can call her up by telephone.” 

■ “I have already asked Lucia. She said that she did 
not know, but that she would find out.” 

“Well, perhaps she has already discovered. Call her 
up 1” 

“Certainly,” answered the lover eagerly. “If she 
has seen the cursed newspaper article she will expect 
some communication from me.” The young man picks 
up the telephone receiver that had been lying upon 
his table, not in its bracket, and is apparently about to 
call up Central when, as he places it to his ear, his face 
becomes suddenly pale, and he says tenderly into the 
’phone : “Wait a moment, darling I” Putting down the 
receiver, he steps back to Von Tschudi and whispers : 
“Immediately the receiver reached my ear Lucia’s voice 
spoke to me over the wire I T have been trying to get 
you for three minutes. To whom are you talking 
about revelation being made to me ? Are you referring 


PHIL CONWAY. 


173 


to those horrid lies in the newspapers about our mar- 
riage being postponed ?’ 

“That proves that she has not as yet received any 
communication from the writer of the threatening let- 
ter,” replies Andrus under his breath. “Go back to the 
telephone ! Tell her you are investigating how the ab- 
surd report got into the evening journals, and inci- 
dentally ask her if she has yet learned the name of her 
father’s agent !” 

Whereupon Conway steps eagerly back to the instru- 
ment. Gazing on him, Von Tschudi notes the play of 
the young man’s features; gradually they grow re- 
lieved, then pleased. Finally Philip calls through, the 
telephone : “Hold the wire a minute !” puts down the 
receiver, steps to Von Tschudi and whispers : “Thank 
God, my darling didn’t hear enough to make her in 
any way suspicious ! She had called me up to tell me 
she had refuted, to some reporters, who had called, the 
rumor that our nuptials had been postponed. After a 
few reassuring words I asked her if she had learnt the 
name of her father’s agent, but she had not. ‘Nd 
business,’ my darling whispered to me, ‘till after mar^ 
riage.’ ” Then the young man steps eagerly back td 
the telephone; his fiancee’s sweet voice even at a dis-- 
tance seems very pleasant. 

Gazing at him. Von Tschudi glumly reflects : “Mj 
client would make a better detective if he were a worse 
lover,” and strolls into the other room to avoid ovep 
hearing one-half of a sentimental tete-a-tete. 

He has scarce done so when Conway is beside him, 
his face ghastly, his eyes wild, his manner agitated, and 
whispering: “I’m afraid I’m ruined!’' 

“Ruined! How?” 

“Why, Lucia’s words to me indicate that her mother 
had been sitting in the telephone closet conversing with 
me for two hours before my fiancee spoke to me! 


174 


PHIL CONWAY. 


You remember when you came in I was so anxious to 
confer with you that I carelessly dropped the receiver 
upon the table; that left the line open. My lips as I 
told my tale were sometimes quite close to the instru- 
ment.” 

“For two hours! Himmel, Kreiiz/ Donnerwetter, 
two hours! Quick, call up Madame Morazan on the 
’phone, ask her what she wanted to say to you, see if 
she did overhear!” 

The young man goes back to the instrument, but 
Von Tschudi seems to have lost his interest in him. 
He is muttering: “For two hours Madame Morazan 
heard Conway’s revelations to me — and the letter that 
threatened him arrived after Conway had talked to me 
scarce an hour. Ach Gott, that makes my suspicion 
possible !” Suddenly the German draws from his 
pocket the typewritten epistle and taking off his glasses, 
places his near-sighted eyes close to the paper, which 
they inspect with almost the power of a magnifying 
glass. As he reaches the signature, “A Friend of Guate- 
mala^” he utters a short, stifled cry, like that of a 
hound which has struck a scent, his eyes grow big and 
he mutters : “What may it not mean ?” 

His reflections are broken in upon by Conway stand- 
ing beside him, saying excitedly : “Madame Morazan 
heard everything !” 

“What did she say?” 

“She said she had tried to call me up about the re- 
ports in the evening newspapers, but that she could 
not catch me; only a jumble of sounds seemed to come 
over my wire. But she lied to me,” asserts Conway 
confidently, “for I tested her. I kept the receiver 
to my ear but turned away my head and placed my- 
self in about the same position to the instrument as 
when I told you my story, and Sofia Morazan answered 
my every question like a flash.” 


PHIL CONWAY. 


175 


^^VerHucht,” grinned the German admiringly, 
“you’re a man I like to work with.” After a moment’s 
reflection he continued: “Let us hope that Madame 
Morazan wishes you to wed her daughte^r and there- 
fore pretends not to have overheard; for if she de- 
sires to break off your match with Lucia we’ve an ex- 
ceedingly crafty lady to deal with. What else did she 
say ?” 

“Probably she is not averse to my marriage,” replied 
Phil more hopefully. “Sofia seemed very^ndignant 
over the reports of the postponement of the wedding, 
and told me to be sure and call this evening to consult 
Lucia and her about stopping the absurd canards.” 

“That’s right. Go up this evening and take me with 
you,” said the German affably. “I would like to meet 
Madam Morazan.” 

“On what plea shall I introduce you?” 

“On the plea that I am connected with the news 
bureau of the United Press Association and will 
cause such reports to be contradicted ; and now 
please order dinner. It’s seven o’clock. A contented 
stomach makes a logical mind ! By his knocking, here’s 
your ladino, Manuel, come to help you dress. I’ll join 
you in half an hour. Ah, I was right; I thought I 
knew Manuel’s step,” laughs Andrus, as a bright-look- 
ing little Costa Rican, quite stylish as to costume, with 
well waxed moustache and bright snappy eyes, enters. 
But Von Tschudi’s laugh dies away as Manuel, lead- 
ing his master aside, whispers: “A lady in the hall- 
way to see you, sir,” 


CHAPTER XL 

A LADY VISITS THE BACHELOR'S FLAT. 

^Tn the hallway ?” asks Philip rapidly. 

“Yes, sir; she came up the stairway unannounced, 
just as I was rapping on your door.” 

Without consulting Andrus, Conway, accustomed to 
running his own domestic affairs, says promptly : 
“Then show her in,” and glances towards Von Tschudi, 
to give him a hint to withdraw, but finds, to his aston- 
ishment, that the German has already effaced himself. 

Ten seconds later Manuel, with an air of surprised 
respect, ushers into the room a lady of splendid car- 
riage, though agitation makes her step timid. A per- 
fectly fitting, dark blue tailor-made costume indicates a 
superb figure of exceedingly graceful lines ; her face, 
however, is heavily veiled. She looks about for a 
moment with an air of diffident embarrassment; then 
as the Costa Rican valet places deferentially a chair 
for her she declines it, saying pleasantly but in a low 
tone : “Thank you, Manuel, but what I have to say 
will not take two minutes.” 

At her voice Conway starts and exclaims in an 
astonished whisper: “You here!” then commands: 
“Manuel, step in front of the door of my apartment 
and see that nobody enters 1” 

The valet passes into the hallway, though the lady 
makes a little agitated dissenting gesture. “Your pre- 
cautions show me how indiscreet I have been to come 
here,” she falters, “but I had no other way of com- 
municating with you. I didn’t dare to use the ’phone ; 
people hear messages passing over it, and if my uncle 
discovered that I was revealing to you his financial 
secrets he would never forgive me.” A tenderer strain 
176 


PHIL CONWAY. 


177 


((enters her voice as she continues : “But, Mr. Conway, 
(I can't bear to see you ruined, you who did me such 
an enormous favor when I was helpless. I’ll never 
forget that you prevented my husband being arrested 
and dragged back as a convict to this country to put 
even greater shame and abasement upon me than I suf- 
fered before; above all that you risked your life to 

save me from — from ’ She hesitates as if unable 

to utter the word. 

Philip cuts short her panegyric by whispering 
quickly: “Then those unsigned letters in regard to 
the American Metal stock were written by you ?” 

“Yes, and the information you received in them was 
correct until that one of last night. I was afraid when 
I read the stock reports this afternoon that you might 
doubt the good faith of the person writing it.” 

“Quite naturally ! They’ve put the stock up to forty- 
seven. Your letter said forty-five,” mutters the specu- 
lator grimly. 

“Yes, since then I have learnt — don’t ask me how — 
that they intend to put American Metal to over fifty, 
hoping a panic of the shorts will carry it beyond that 
figure. You must be assured of the correctness of my 
words to you. The risk to my good repute in coming 
here to give them to you must prove their truth,” she 
falters almost pleadingly. 

“I never would have doubted those anonymous let- 
ters if you had signed them,” whispers Conway gal- 
lantly, glancing admiringly at the beautiful woman, 
who has drawn aside her veil impulsively, showing an 
exquisitelj^ delicate face lighted by wistful, sentimental 
brown eyes, which, as they seek Philip’s for a moment 
and then drop in half frightened bashfulness, look 
pathetically lovely. 

Perhaps some recollection of the tete-a-tete muleback 
ride in Guatemala is in both their minds, for the lady 


178 


PHIL CONWAY. 


answers simply : ‘1 know I can trust my reputation in 
your hands. I’ve trusted myself to you alone in the 
tropic wilderness.” Then some recollection seems to 
well up in her, her face flushes, her eyes grow brilliant 
and affrighted yet teary, she shudders: “Oh, that 
awful night ! Had you not risked your life for me, I 

had not been here — I ” 

But Conway again cuts her speech short by remark- 
ing in formal tone: “It is only that others may see 
your coming that I fear. I am deeply grateful to you 
for your information, Mrs. Saxon. I am only sorry 
that my relations to your uncle have prevented my 
calling at your own house. I appreciate thoroughly 

the risk you take, for if Cartwright Haswell knew ” 

“Oh, don’t speak of that !” she flutters. “If he knew 
— that has kept me awake at nights ! That terrible 
quarrel! His ungrounded rage at you! — not hatred, 
because I think he likes you very well despite stock 
disagreements. But if you came and saw him and 
tried to smooth it over and said that you had been 
hasty in your views about American Metal, perhaps 
he would agree with you now, because I think he sees 
that you were right in regard to your prognostications 
as to the ultimate value of the business.” 

“Yes, after he has sold all his stock, I presume,” 
suggests Phil significantly. 

“Yes, he has sold a great deal of it, I think.” Actia’s 
voice indicates conviction. 

“A — ah!” This is a sigh of relief from the specu- 
lator. “You are quite sure of that?” 

“Oh, quite certain. I won’t tell you How I dis- 
covered it, but I am quite certain. But now you’ll 
come and see us and try and make up with my uncle, 
won’t you, Mr. Conway?” Her voice has grown softly 
pleading. “Believe me, if you give him the opportunity, 
Cartwright will forget all differences.” 


PHIL CONWAY. 


179 


\ 

\ “Thank you, Til try to call,” answers Conway affa- 
ply. ‘T can hardly tell you how grateful I am for your 
information. I thoroughly appreciate the relief you 
have given to my mind — the financial relief.” He again 
offers his visitor a chair. 

“Thank you. I dare not stay any longer. No one 
will notice me as I step quietly down the stairs.” Al- 
most reaching the door, Actia Saxon turns and holds 
out a delicately gloved hand diffidently yet cordially. 
As the gentleman takes it, she says, even in the gloom 
an embarrassed blush crimsoning her face : “I read 
in the evening papers a report about you. I think you 
are perfectly wise, after what you have told me in re- 
gard to your unfortunate connection with the death of 
General Morazan, in relinquishing the thought of mak- 
ing his daughter your wife. I am sure my uncle will 
be happy to hold out the olive branch. Au revoirT 

Conway is impulsively opening his mouth to put an 
end to her misconception and assure her of his deter- 
mination to marry his betrothed when a noise in the 
hall makes him start and the lady’s graceful figure 
quiver like an aspen leaf. A gruff but cheery voice is 
crying outside the door ; “Hi, Manuel, let me in ! I 
know your master will be glad to see me on account 
of old Guatemala. Just open the door for Bostwick, 
will you?” 

It also paralyzes Conway’s vocal cords, but he 
shows his quick decision, by opening the door to his 
bedroom,. which is unlighted, and Actia Saxon, with a 
trembling shudder, after one moment’s hesitation, 
passes in. Closing the door upon her, Phil, with a 
muttered curse, crosses his parlor, throws open the 
portal of his hall and cries cheerfully : “Bostwick, 
come in I I haven’t forgotten you or your voice.” 

“Why, by gum, if I ain’t glad to see you, and glad 
you haven’t forgotten Reuben Bostwick,” says the de- 


i8o 


PHIL CONWAY. 


tective entering. “Times have changed with us, haven’t 
they? You’ve become one of the leading Wall Street 
lights. Stocks pay better than engineering, judging 
by the looks of this outfit.” His eyes, perhaps from 
the habit of his profession, searchingly roam about the 
magnificent parlor. “Just flip up the lights, will ye?” 
he remarks cheerfully. “Let me take a look at your 
millionaire quarters.” 

“Why, they are not so extraordinary,” returns Con- 
way ; but with quick grasp of the situation, he touches 
the electric switch and the room is brilliantly illumi- 
nated. “Have a seat.” 

“Not till I’ve enjoyed my eyes,” answers the visitor. 
“My gracious, what handsome fittings-up. And a side- 
board, too!” 

“Yes, like something to drink ? And Manuel, cigars ! 
You were always a great hand at smoking,” is the 
host’s answer to this suggestion. 

“And a literary library, too !” exclaims the detective, 
lighting his cigar and wandering about the parlor ex- 
amining curios and inspecting tapestries, etc. Chat- 
ting pleasantly of old times he consumes perhaps five 
minutes. Finally he says : “Your apartment is a 
corker! How many rooms in it?” 

“Only five !” mutters Conway. “But I’ve got to 
dress for dinner.” 

“Have ye? This I guess is your bedroom.” With 
extraordinary assurance Bostwick has his hand on the 
door knob. “Got a friend in there, I reckon. -I hear a 
movement in there. Perhaps he’s heard us say drinks ! 
I hope I haven’t interrupted any private consultation 
on stocks.” 

Probably Bostwick doesn’t guess how near he is to 
being kicked out of the flat. Fortunately, before Con- 
way can speak or move, the bedroom door is opened 
and Von Tschudi comes carelessly in. 


PHIL CONWAY. 


l8l 


\ 


\ ‘‘I did hear you say drinks, Conway?” he remarks, 
‘xDr was it your friend there? Mein Himmel, I am 
always ready for a cocktail before dinner. Introduce 
me, please.” 

Presentation being made, he ejaculates : ‘'Oho, I’ve 
heard of you from my friend, Herr Conway. You are 
Bostwick, the great detective who aided him when he 
attempted to assist Morazan out of Guatemala. Yes, 
Manuel, I’ll take some whiskey. By the by, with your 
permission, Herr Conway, may I ask Manuel to run 
down stairs and order dinner ? Shall I write our menu ? 
We’re three in' a party now.” 

Von Tschudi sits down and writes rapidly, Philip 
astutely making no comment. His eyes indicate some 
surprise, though the anxiety in his mind almost oblit- 
erates that. Manuel picks up the paper, looks at his 
master and seeing that he assents, leaves the room. 
Glasses and liquors are already before the gentlemen. 

“Now that the drink has rolled down your thirsty 
throat, Herr Bostwick,” laughs Andrus, “let me say, 
in my simple German way, that it’s very nice, your 
staying to dine with your old Kamerad, Conway. The 
Herr Stockbroker has spoken to me so often of your 
services to him, Herr Detective, in Guatemala, that I 
feel as if you to me were acquainted. You are still 
connected with the American Detective Agency?” 

“Yes,” answers Bostwick, looking curiously at the 
foreign gentleman with blue eye-glasses. 

“That is fortunate, because I think I can give you a 
slight employment in the line of your profession. 
Would you call upon me to-morrow afternoon, say at 
one o’clock? I also an apartment have in the Me- 
phisto. Now, while the waiters are bringing up the 
dinner. I’ll slip on a dress suit and be back in time for 
the first course.” 

To this Bostwick makes no dissent. He has seated 


i 82 


PHIL CONWAY. 


liimself close to the door of the parlor. No one can 
pass out of the flat without coming under his eye, 
though, as the German leaves the apartment, the de- 
tective steps to the door and, holding it open, calls 
after him: “You don’t mind my eating with you in 
my business rig, do you ?” 

“Not a snap of my little finger.” 

“Well, foreigners are sometimes peculiar on that 
point,” chuckles Bostwick, listening to Von Tschudi’s 
departing footsteps. After a moment he steps into the 
room again and observes deprecatingly : “I ain’t been in 
a swaliow-tail since I disguised as a waiter to catch Mil- 
ton, the forger, the night he tried to escape to Canada.” 

Upon this Conway has looked, uttering no comment 
and glumly smoking his cigar. Mrs. Saxon’s pertur- 
bation, imprisoned in his bedroom by this man’s pres- 
ence, makes him turn a most inhospitable eye on Bost- 
wick. Still, to expel the detective from his apartment 
would simply increase the suspicion that a lady is con- 
cealed in it, for by this time Conway is quite well 
aware that Bostwick only stepped into the hallway to 
be sure that Von Tschudi didn’t assist anyone to slip 
out unperceived. 

“You’re not going to get into a swallow-tail?” 
queries the detective. “I thought you swells always 
wore dress suits in the evening.” A sly grin is on his 
lips and his eyes are on the bedroom door. 

“I shall not dress until after dinner; I’m too tired 
with my day’s work in Wall Street,” returns Philip, 
suppressing an execration. 

“Yes, pretty big day down there.” Bostwick drops 
easily into a chair near the outlet of the apartment. 
“Got another boost on in stocks, I believe. I’m long 
myself on a couple of hundred American Metal Com- 
mon. Bought ’em on a tip from Cartwright Haswell. 


PHIL CONWAY. 183 

Big as he is, he sometimes has a little job for us secret 
service men.'’ 

“Pays pretty well for it, I suppose?” observes the 
broker grimly. 

“Well, yes; but his tips on stocks are worth more 
when you do him a good turn. Pm about five hundred 
ahead on to-day’s transactions.” 

“Well, you keep your stock,” jeers Conway, “and 
you’ll be a rich man some day.” A slight trembling 
of his finger as he knocks the ashes from his cigar in- 
dicates that at the mention of Cartwright Haswell has 
arisen a distracting thought. If Mrs. Saxon’s uncle 
discovers that his niece has been revealing to his op- 
ponent the secrets of the manipulation of the American 
Metal stock and casts her out upon the world, what 
claim might it not give her upon him in her helpless- 
ness? He doubts if Haswell has ever made her inde- 
pendent, notwithstanding his love for her. Has Bost- 
wick been employed by Haswell to shadow Mrs. 
Saxon? A moment’s consideration makes him easier. 
Cartwright Haswell is not the man to put a detective 
on his favorite niece. All Phil can do under these 
circumstances is to appear absolutely unsuspicious of 
Bostwick’s motive in visiting him ; he remarks, forcing 
himself to affability : “Here are the waiters and I hope 
Von Tschudi has ordered a good dinner.’^ 

Manuel is about to set the table in Mr. Conway’s 
little dining room, but Bostwick suddenly suggests : 
“Why not have it in here ? Lots more room for cigar 
smoke.” .Then he astoundedly exclaims: “Gee whiz, 
you are a lightning change artist!” as Von Tschudi 
comes into the parlor in immaculate evening dress and 
remarks: “I agree with Herr Bostwick; let us dine 
here.” 

Conway glances at him a moment, but the German’s 
impenetrable eyes, shielded by their blue glasses, give 
him no hint ; still he is astute enough to assent. 


PHIL CONWAY. 


So the three sit down to an excellent dinner, though 
its courses are not numerous. Philip has little appe- 
tite and only tastes the dishes placed before him. Von 
Tschudi apparently makes a good meal, and Bostwick 
even a better one, remarking : “This is prime feeding. 
By ginger, when I think of Guatemala and its eternal 
fried eggs and frijoles Pm always hungry.’^ 

‘‘And thirsty too,” observes his host. “Manuel, some 
more champagne for Mr. Bostwkk.” 

“By the by, what business is that you want me for 

to-morrow, Mr. ?” The detective glances at the 

German. “I didn’t quite catch your name.” 

“Von Tschudi,” replies the gentleman. “And tlve 
business might just as well be explained to you now. 
I believe I speak with Mr. Conway’s permission. He 
wishes you to discover who caused to be placed in this 
evening’s paper the report that his marriage with Doha 
Lucia Morazan is postponed.” Von Tschudi hands the 
journal to the detective. 

“Which rumor, I need hardly say, is false,” inter- 
jects Conway. 

“Ah, yes, I heard that you were going to marry 
the daughter of the poor old gent you did so much for 
in Guatemala. Quite appropriate,” observes the de- 
tective. “Says I to myself : ‘If Lucia’s as pretty now 
as she was as a child, she’s a hummer. I’ll come up and 
congratulate my old friend Conway.’ It was that made 
me drop in upon you.” 

“Why, I thought that it might have been business,” 
laughs Von Tschudi. 

“Business?” The detective rolls his eyes in astonish- 
ment. 

“Yes, you are sometimes in divorce cases, aren’t you? 
As I returned here I happened to see a remarkably 
striking woman leaving Bloomer’s apartment. Of 
course her veil concealed her face, but a blue, tailor- 


PHIL CONWAY. 185 

made gown and -perfectly fitting bottines showed me 
she had a figure !” 

On hearing this description Bostwick has half risen 
from his chair, but after a second’s consideration he 
reseats himself and glancing over the article in the 
evening paper, remarks : “I’ll find out who got this 
inserted, Mr. Conway. Probably somebody that’s a 
little jealous of you. Will one o’clock to-morrow 
afternoon be time enough for me to make my report ?” 

“Certainly,” replies Conway. “Only make it to Von 
Tschudi. I shall be down town,” and the meal that 
seemed interminable to Philip draws to a close. 

Bostwick, who is now apparently anxious to be off 
on the new business that he has on hand, gets up and 
says : “If you don’t mind. I’ll see some newspaper re- 
porters to-night in regard to this matter. Night’s the 
time for newspaper men.” 

“Very well,” answers Conway alertly. “If you don’t 
mind. I’ll bid you good bye now; I’ve got to get into 
evening clothes and call upon the young lady I am 
about to wed.” 

“Quite right. Don’t wonder that you’re in a hurry 
to see your girl,” and the detective, putting on his hat 
and coat, steps briskly out of the room. 

Conway follows his unwelcome guest to the door, 
leaves it slightly ajar and waits till he hears Bostwick’s 
footsteps die away ; then he returns to the German and 
says : “Did you notice that the moment after you told 
him that the lady in the blue tailor-made gown and 
perfect boots had left Bloomer’s apartment, Bostwick 
had no further interest in my bedroom door? You 
have a bright mind, Von Tschudi, but how did you see 
her costume in the dark ?” 

As if nerving himself for an unpleasant interview, 
Philip moves towards his bedroom ; but Andrus laughs : 
“She is not there. I simply told Bostwick the truth. 


PHIL CONWAY. 


1 86 

Mrs. Saxon went home before we sat down to dinner.’^ 

“Mrs. Saxon! You know her name?” 

“I guessed who she was. I know this building very 
well. I am perfectly aware that a door from your bath- 
room connects with Bloomer’s flat, because I have 
known Bloomer to use it. He told me you gave him 
that privilege once upon a very delicate occasion. I 
thought turn about was fair pHy; so I unlocked the 
door on your side and hastily explained the matter to 
the veiled lady. Mrs. Saxon is a woman of quick com- 
prehension. The light in your bathroom was turned on, 
so I could see that she nodded her head in answer to 
my remarks, and also could note her costume. Of 
course the door was bolted on Bloomer’s side; there- 
fore when I went out to get into evening dress I walked 
round the floor above and came down on Mr. Bloomer’s 
side. I had been useful to that enterprising young 
roysterer on one or two occasions. I knew if I spoke to 
him he would turn down his lights, absent himself and 
permit me to escort Mrs. Saxon through his flat. But 
I imagine she had in some way attracted Mr. Bloomer’s 
attention and done that for herself, for as I approached 
the door I saw the lady in a blue tailor-made costume, 
heavily veiled, stepping from Bloomer’s door. I walked 
by her side to the head of the stairway and whispered to 
her: ‘Don’t go home in that hired hack. Tell the 
cabman to drive you to Sherry’s. Get out at the Forty- 
fourth Street entrance. Go in and after a quarter of an 
hour leave by the Fifth Avenue side and walk home.’ 
She simply nodded her head and disappeared. My re- 
marks half an hour afterwards to Mr. Bostwick about 
a lady with perfectly booted feet and wearing Actia-^ 
Saxon’s tailor-made costume were intended to discover 
if Mr. Bostwick was watching Actia Saxon. He was. 
Bostwick had noted her perfect bottines and tailor- 
made gown. I mentioned the lady as issuing from 


PHIL CONWAY. 187 

Bloomer’s flat because I didn’t think the detective was 
quite sure that she had entered yours.” 

As he listens to this, Conway utters a sigh of relief ; 
but this changes to one of anxiety as Von Tschudi 
questions : ‘‘And now what do you think Mrs. Saxon’s 
visit to you means? What she said to you of course 
I don’t know.” 

“I fear,” answers Philip almost sadly, “that she has 
caused the insertion of the newspaper reports of the 
breaking oflf of my marriage with Lucia Morazan. 
Perhaps she may be even the author of that typewritten 
letter.” 

“That last is a devilish bad guess,” grins Andrus. 
“In the first place you said that she knew nothing about 
thumping a typewriter.” 

“Yet she may have hired somebody to do it,” replies 
Conway. “But it is what she said to me that has roused 
my suspicions.” The young man thinks a moment and 
goes on : “In this crisis of my life undue modesty is 
idiotic. Actia Saxon’s speech and actions in our inter- 
view suggested she had probably brought her uncle to 
look with favor on me again ; that — that ” 

“Don’t be too modest,” remarks Andrus. “You 
mean that she might be willing to marry you. But, as 
I said before, Mrs. Saxon had nothing to do with that 
typewritten letter.” 

“What makes you think that?” 

“Why, because I have examined it with my micro- 
scopic eyes. This letter is a very curious one.” He 
pulls out the document and hands it to Conway. 

“Certainly,” answers Philip. “It would seem to be 
written by a Guatemalan. It addresses me as S eft or 
Filipo Conway and ends with ^Cuidado' the Spanish 
word for Beware!” 

“But despite all that it was typed by a German!” 
asserts Andrus triumphantly. 


i88 


PHIL CONWAY. 


“A what ?” gasps Conway. 

“A German.” 

“How do you know that?” 

“By the signature. It is signed ‘A Friend of Guate- 
mala.' In the first writing it was 'A Freund of Guate- 
mala.’ The German 'Freund' has been hastily erased 
and the English 'Friend' substituted for it. In addition, 
it has been written, as I said' before, by a person who 
was at one time an expert thumper of the Remington 
but who is now out of practice.” 

“I cannot see the erasure you speak of,” remarks the 
broker, inspecting the typewritten page very carefully. 

“No, because your vision is normal; my myopic eyes 
are microscopic. But if you have a magnifying glass — 
an engineer who once made mechanical drawings 
should have a magnifying glass ” 

“Why, yes, of course I’ve one !” Conway looks about 
the parlor a moment, then cries into the next room : 
“Manuel, where is that large round magnifying glass?” 

“Why, it’s in that old idol, where I keep all such 
things,” answers the Costa Rican, who is apparently 
arranging dishes. “Shall I come in and get it for you ?” 

Without answering him. Von Tschudi steps over to 
the old idol, puts his hand into its grinning mouth and 
pulls out some cotton, needles, a package of cigarettes, 
a magnifying glass, and a little steel implement that 
falls upon the floor. Conway seizes the magnifying 
glass, places it over the writing and exclaims: “By 
heaven, you’re right !” 

But Von Tschudi, unheeding him, is picking up the 
steel implement from the floor. Holding it up before 
Conway, he whispers beneath his breath: “Whose 
broken scissors are these?” 

“Mine !” 

“Then you did try to electrocute yourself?” 

“What infernal nonsense !” 


PHIL CONWAY. 


189 


“This is infernal, but not nonsense!” Von Tschudi 
opens his pocketbook. “They were fractured; now 
they are whole I” He has fitted into the broken blade 
a piece of steel that he has produced from his pocket- 
book. “These scissors were used to scrape ott the 
insulation from the wire that carried death to Chico” 

Both men look at each other. Philip’s face has on 
it a horrified yet doubting expression. 

“Isn’t it about time we left for Madame Morazan’s ?” 
remarks the sociologist. 

“Yes. I’ll get into my dress suit at once.” Con- 
way steps briskly into his bedroom, closes the door, 
turns on the electric lights and utters a sharp cry of 
concerned astonishment; for seated in a far corner of 
the room, with frightened, hunted eyes is Actia Saxon. 

The heat of the apartment has been such she has 
thrown off her wraps. She springs up disclosing in 
her haste one of the perfectly booted feet Von Tschudi 
has mentioned and whispers piteously : “How much 
longer must I remain here ? I thought you would never 
— never come. Is it not safe for me to leave now? 
Was that man watching me ?” 

“You don’t fear that Cartwright Haswell has put a 
detective on your track?” mutters Philip uneasily. 

“No,” she says proudly. “My uncle, even if he sus- 
pected me of doing the thing I have done, would never 
degrade himself or degrade me by that. He’d call 
me to him and question me and, even if I told him a lie, 
believe me. I am his favorite niece. That’s what 
makes my treachery to his interests so distractingly 
humiliating to me.” 

Suddenly Actia’s face, that had been pale, grows 
flushed ; she dashes on desperately : “And yet I’m go- 
ing to be a greater traitor to my uncle. I’m glad I have 
been delayed here, for as I have waited it has occurred 
to me that, in the first embarrassment of finding myself 


190 


PHIL CONWAY. 


alone with you in a position that might make you lose 
respect for me, I forgot to thoroughly explain the 
situation as to the American Metal stock. You must 
not ask me how I learnt this. The manner in which 
this secret came to my ears might make you think me 
ignoble ; but it Was for you sake, Philip.” Her cheeks 
are crimson, though she goes on resolutely : “The 
manipulators of American Metal plan to make a great 
flurry to-morrow in that stock by not only bidding up 
the Common stock, but by bidding up its approaching 
dividend in order to produce a bear panic. Those are 
the words I overheard them use.” 

“Oh, yes, I can guess,” answers Conway medita- 
tively, “the bull rumors that will be put about. Peo- 
ple are bidding for the dividend even now.” 

“Yes, but the day after, when they declare the divi- 
dend,” whispers Actia excitedly, “it will be cut on 
the common stock of American Metal to one-half its 
usual amount; earnings are decreasing.” 

“By Heaven and Earth!” ejaculates Conway, his 
eyes lighting up with the exultation of a speculator 
who had feared that the battle was going against him 
but now knows that he holds the winning hand. Then 
he asks almost tremblingly: “You are very sure?” 

“Yes, I overheard it at a private conference of some 
of the Directors this afternoon at our own house. But 
oh, I don’t like to tell you of my treachery to my uncle,” 
she shudders, “it is too horrible. You may despise me 
for it. You understand me” — she has seized his 
wrist impulsively and is looking into his eyes — “I would 
never have done this but, you know” — her voice grows 
softly tender — “what you did for me that night at La 
Tinta, Philip.” 

“I only did what any other man would have done for 
you,” answers Phil, doggedly turning from her entreat- 
ing eyes. 


PHIL CONWAY. 


I91 

“Ah, yes, but no other man did it!” she whispers 
ardently. Then striving to hide the bashful blushes 
that cover her cheeks by turning away her head she 
stammers : “You — you understand, there is going to 
be a great flurry in the American Metal stock to-mor- 
row; something to — to frighten people who have sold 
it short.'' 

“Oh, yes, I understand,” answers Conway. “Cross 
orders, matched orders, and all the tricks of bull ma- 
nipulation. Two or three hundred thousand shares on 
the ticker and only half the transactions genuine. I 
wonder how high the shares will go?” he mutters, 
probably figuring the big margins that may be called 
from him. 

“Oh, how can I tell that?” replies the lady. “You 
should judge that better than I ; but some of the direc- 
tors thought they might force the stock even higher 
than the figure I first mentioned. You do not fear you 
will be forced to cover?” she asks earnestly. 

“Not a bit!” answers Phil. “If they put it to 
eighty I could still keep my line out, I was only think- 
ing how much more I should sell on the rise.” 

“Ah, that shows how awful has been my treachery to 
my uncle,” shudders Actia, biting her lip. “You’re go- 
ing to strike him with the information I’ve brought to 
you. You’ll tell others !” 

“Not another human being, Actia!” answers Phil 
warmly. 

It is the first time this evening he has addressed 
her by her Christian name. Mrs. Saxon looks at him 
gratefully. 

“Understand me,” she whispers shamefacedly: 
“My only excuse for daring to come here and put my- 
self in a compromising position is that I feared you 
might be tricked into ruining yourself by covering. 
No other method of communication was open to me. 


192 


PHIL CONWAY. 


Do you think I would have done this for you, Philip, 
if you had not risked you life; for me?” Actia’s eyes 
have in them an appeal that is seductive from its bash- 
ful entreaty ; she has got his hand again. 

But Conway is too wise to let a woman’s emotions 
run riot. He says promptly : “Believe me, I appreciate 
the risk you have taken to give me this vital informa- 
tion, and thank you for it. It is now safe, I think, for 
you to go, but it is too late for you to leave here alone. 
I will introduce you to a friend in whom you can have 
the same confidence that I have. He will escort you 
home. It would not be wise for me to go with you to 
your house.” 

Before Mrs. Saxon can answer, Mr. Conway steps 
back into his parlor and confronting Von Tschudi, says 
sharply : “You have made a fearful mistake. The lady 
leaving Bloomer’s apartment was not Mrs. Saxon.” 

''Mein Himinel!’' 

“Yes. Actia Saxon is in that room. You must take 
her to her cab and escort her home. Understand me as 
to this lady, I expect the same inviolate secrecy that 
you promised when I engaged you in my affairs.” 

“Certainly,” whispers the German, “for this is, I 
think, a very vital part of it.” 

“As you go home with her,” directs Conway, 
“please indicate unmistakably to Mrs. Saxon that my 
marriage is not postponed and that my love for Lucia 
Morazan is eternal.” 

“Ah, I think I understand you,” observes Andrus. 
“Please introduce me to the lady.” 

“First you are quite sure that Bostwick is not 
about?” asks Conway uneasily. 

“Quite certain! My having the dinner set in this 
room, which prevented the lady from passing out from 
your apartment as we sat at table took away most of 
Bostwick’s suspicions. My mentioning the lady pass- 


PHIL CONWAY. 


193 


ing from Bloomer’s rooms practically made him cer- 
tain he’d made a mistake, and that no one had entered 
your flat. But for all that I will see!” The German 
leaves the apartment and in a few minutes returns and 
remarks : “Everything is safe for the lady, under my 
escort.” 

On hearing this, Conway steps into the bedroom, and 
finding his fair visitor veiled, whispers : “Everything is 
prepared,” and promptly leads her into his parlor. 
Here he simply says : “Mr. Von Tschudi.” 

The German, bowing respectfully, opens the door 
into the hall. At its portal Mrs. Saxon turns and 
again holds out her hand to Phil, whispering: “If 
you will only call I am sure my uncle will forgive you. 
You know if you had not risked your life for me I 
would never have been here.” 

The clinging clasp of her delicate fingers tells a 
story that fills Conway with sorrow. As she leaves him 
he reflects grimly : “This is a nasty complication, but 
thank Heaven I feel it is not my fault.” Then her 
revelation bringing business into his brain, he mutters : 
“Lucky Haswell planned his coup on American Metal 
Common for to-morrow. The next is my wedding 
day. I should have been wanting to look at the ticker 
as I stood before the parson.” 

Half an hour afterwards Von Tschudi reenters the 
flat and finds his client in evening dress. To Conway’s 
eager question, “Is everything all right?” the German 
replies briskly : “Perfectly ! But I don’t want to drive 
home again with a lady who has as sad a heart as my 
statement of your coming nuptials with and eternal 
devotion to Lucia Morazan placed in Mrs. Saxon.” 

“What did she say?” queries Philip uneasily. 

“Not a word ; but I could feel her tremble as I spoke. 
A little after she contrived to mutter some half-broken 
sentences that she would never have placed herself in 


PHIL CONWAY. 


her embarrassing position had you not risked your Ufe 
for her. From her disjointed words something more 
happened in Guatemala than you told me. In your 
narrative you always protect ladies. It’s a gentlemanly 
habit for which I honor you, Herr Conway. But if I 
am to be of any great use to you in this matter you 
must make me your confidant.” 

“Well,” answers Philip reluctantly, “I didn’t consider 
it necessary to mention it, but the truth is I risked 
my life for Mrs. Saxon in Guatemala. Though it’s only 
what any other man would have done,” he adds mod- 
estly. “That scoundrel Gutierez the night after we had 
left him in the road, attempted to abduct Mrs. Saxon 
from the cabilda at La Tinta. You know those resting 
places are open and common to all travellers. They 
have no inns in those Indian villages. Actia was lying 
in a hammock in the hut itself. I and Manuel were 
sleeping outside. I was awakened by Mrs. Saxon’s 
outcries. The little brute, with the aid of two of his 
mosos, had got her on the saddle in front of him and 
was already galloping away along the tropic trail into 
the darkness. Fortunately our mules were tethered near. 
Within two minutes I was in pursuit. The cowardly 
mozos, overawed by my revolvers and Manuel’s ma- 
chete made no effort to oppose me, and it was a ride 
simply between the cattleman and myself. He was not 
so well mounted as the day before, and having two on 
his saddle his horse was overweighted. Soon I heard 
the hoofbeats of his horse on the trail ahead of me. As 
I dashed through the vines and parasites that grew 
from the trees along this tropic mule path, I could dis- 
tinguish the exclamations of Actia, who was screaming 
and struggling and doing what she could to escape 
from the arms of the wiry little savage who, perfectly 
at home on horseback, held her in front of him as he 
galloped on. In half an hour I had overtal'jen him. 


PHIL CONWAY. 


195 


Fortunately my separa hung over my shoulder. Know- 
ing the methods of his tribe I wrapped it round my 
left arm and when he turned upon me I took his knife 
into the thick folds of the woolen cloak. I’ve the scar 
yet.” Phil rolls up his sleeve and shows a long, deep 
cicatrix upon his muscular fore-arm. 

“And then?” whispers Von Tschudi. 

“Well, this time I shot the man — not the horse,” mut- 
ters Conway. “But I don’t think I killed the brute. 
Bellinger’s letters indicate that Gutierez is still alive 
and in the cattle business. Then I rode back with a 
half-fainting woman in my arms to the cahilda” 

“And this time she was not struggling and scream- 
ing as she had been in the clasp of the cattle man,” 
grins Andrus. Then his voice grows more serious 
as he continues : '‘Mein Freund, I am not surprised 
that Actia Saxon is willing to marry you; there is 
nothing that makes a woman love a man like fighting 
for her. And if Actia really has made up her niind to it, 
you may be put in quite an embarrassing position. All 
she’s got to do is to permit her uncle to discover that 
she’s been giving his financial secrets away to you, and 
Cartwright Haswell will probably cast her into the 
street. Then what would gratitude compel you to do 
for a woman who has ruined her chances of a great 
fortune and is helpless in New York on account of her 
devotion to you? It would be extremely difficile for 
you.” 

“By Jove, then it is just as well that I didn’t send 
Mrs. Saxon that pencil letter I drafted to her,” re- 
marks Phil glumly. “Understand me, I never wish to 
plead the baby act; but Actia’s revelations to me as to 
her uncle’s stock manipulations were entirely unsolici- 
ted.” 

“I am glad of that,” observes the German. “Any 
complication with this lady would now be extremely 


198 


PHIL CONWAY. 


‘^Humph, I suppose if that person were an expert 
electrician/’ exclaims Phil suddenly, “you might sus- 
pect the party not only of the letter but of the bird cage 
attempt?” 

“Aha, had you not been so greatly in love you would 
not have needed my aid, mein Freund’^ whispers the 
German admiringly. “But who are these ladies com- 
ing out of the house?” Conway’s carriage has just 
drawn up in front of a brilliantly lighted mansion. 

“By their giggles, they are Miss Alicia Westing- 
house and Miss Belle Sedgwick, two of the brides- 
maids,” laughs Philip. 

Another carriage is standing in front of the house, 
apparently waiting for the young ladies, who come 
down the steps together, one of them remarking: 
“When I read it I thought Pd faint ! He, he, he !” 

“When I read it I did faint! Ha, ha, ha!” giggles 
the other. 

As Mr. Conway alights, both demoiselles step quickly 
towards him. Miss Westinghouse, who is a tall, svelte 
blonde, says : “So glad you have come. She needs your 
consolation, dear Mr. Conway. Those horrible news- 
paper articles have upset Lucia.” 

“But she’ll revive when the bridegroom cometh,” 
suggests Miss Belle Sedgwick, who is plump and 
brune. “You’ll have simply a delicious interview. 
Why, you can propose over again. Ha, ha, ha, won’t 
that be nice ?” 

“But they’ll have you in Town Topics this week 
sure!” chatters Alicia. “Pm told it is to be a two- 
column article with a description of the bridesmaids’ 
dresses. You know we all wear white chiffon gowns 
and white picture hats. The postponement of such a 
wedding would have been a social calamity.” 

“Don’t be frightened, young ladies,” laughs Conway, 
as he puts them into their carriage, “the ceremony 


PHIL CONWAY. 190 

! 

I ^ 

Will not be postponed on account of the bridegroom.’^ 
“Not if you could see her now; Luei'a looks like a 
fairy this evening,” exclaims Alici^. 

“And such wedding gifts! She’s^just got a corker. 
See you at the altar!” remarks Miss Belle as their 
equipage rolls away. 

Listening to this Von Tschudi is chuckling philo- 
sophically as he steps from the carriage. Philip, with 
lover’s impatience, has sprung up to the entrance ahead 
of him and has already rung the door bell. 


202 


PHIL CONWAY. 


slips into his fat hand four delicate fingers and a dainty 
thumb, and says impulsively : “A friend of Phil’s ? 
My friend !” 

“I hope to be,” murmurs Andrus gallantly, and 
strives to take his eyes from the young lady and in- 
spect the apartment and its surroundings, but finds he 
cannot; Lucia Morazan is too enchanting. The room 
is artistically and exquisitely furnished, fine paintings 
adorn the walls ; beautiful statues, cabinets, bric-a-brac, 
lamps, and all the charming modern knick-knacks of a 
home of both taste and wealth, surround her ; still they 
are but a setting to the beautiful being who fascinates 
Von Tschudi’s eyes. As he gazes on her he knows 
Lucia Morazan loves Phil Conway with her whole 
heart and is proud of her cavalier and willing in a 
modest maidenly way that is entirely charming to dis- 
play her passion. 

Her frank spirited face, radiant with the happiness 
of love is lighted by eyes brilliant as sapphires ; though 
these grow soft as violets as they look upon her Cabal- 
lero, as she sometimes calls Phil. Great masses of 
golden hair are banded about the well-formed head in 
a classic simplicity that would be severe did not a few* 
escaping locks just touch the ivory shoulders, that 
gleam beneath the gauzes of her corsage. A superb 
arm, bare almost to the shoulder, dazzles Von Tschudi 
with its snowy whiteness as in graceful gesture the 
girl motions him to a chair. 

As she seats herself beside her betrothed, the Ger- 
man cannot wonder at his client’s devotion to the 
beautiful girl, who seems to his inspection even more 
lovely than he had expected ; but considerably more ma- 
ture. He notes this especially in the lines of her charm- 
ing figure, which, though slight and ethereal, is 
womanly in its rounded contours. 

“Mr. Von Tschudi,” continues Conway in an eN" 


PHIL CONWAY. 


205 


planatory voice, “is one of the heads of the American 
News Bureau. I have brought him to see you, Lucia, 
so that he could hear your words as well as mine and 
make proper announcement in the journals that there 
will be no postponement of the ceremony that will 
make me yours.” 

“Oh, and me yours, amor de mi animaT cries the 
girl impulsively. “Those papers — there were some half 
a dozen, I think — had the audacity to say that I had 
postponed my happiness. But Dios mio, sometimes I’m 
glad those cruel words were printed, because when I 
read them I knew how much I longed to be your 
spouse.” Lucia’s blue eyes, glowing with passion, be- 
come bright as the rising sun. 

A moment after another mood strikes her ; she says 
archly : “But all the world did not believe those news- 
paper canards. Despite these reports, someone has 
just sent me a beautiful present. It only arrived 
a moment ago, even mamma has not seen it. It is so 
exquisite I — I put it on.” She extends a rounded arm 
gleaming like Parian marble, displaying a very hand- 
some bracelet adorned by a large single emerald sur- 
rounded by diamonds; then laughs roguishly: “But 
of course, my affianced, newspaper falsehoods couldn’t 
affect this joke of yours. You knew the wedding 
would take place.” 

“This joke of mine!” exclaims Conway, astounded. 

''Ach Himmel, I wish some one would play as mag- 
nificent a joke on me!” laughs Andrus. 

“Certainly! It’s either Phil’s pleasantry or else it’s 
a fairy bridal gift, Mr. Von Tschudi,” observes the 
young lady. “At least I said that when I read the 
card.” 

“It is very handsome,” remarks her betrothed. 
“What card came with it?” 

“Oh, don’t pretend ignorance,” Lucia laughs, and 


2o6 


PHIL CONWAY. 


was a good friend of mine in other ways,” she adds 
with a merry laugh. ‘‘He got me out of baby frocks.” 

At this peculiar declaration, Phil looks astounded 
and Von Tschudi ejaculates: ''Mein Himmeir 

“Oh, yes, he did,” says the girl archly, poking out 
from the laces of her robe, a fairy blue-silk stockinged 
foot, beautifully slippered. “You know,” she blushes 
beautifully, “I wore short skirts until I was as big 
as I am now. Even those silk stockings sent by 'Un 
amigo de Don Diego/ couldn’t keep me from being 
bashful. Well, one day mamma said to me : ‘When 
your mercantile studies are completed you shall be put 
in long gowns,’ and gave me a lot more commercial 
letters till finally I — as you Americans say — kicked 
about it. Then she said : ‘One more will complete 
your business education, young lady. When that is 
written you will be old enough — ’ ‘To be loved, 
mamma?’ asked I. I was so anxious to be old enough 
for Phil to love me. You know I can tell these things 
now, Mr. Von Tschudi, because Pm going to marry 
him next Thursday,” asserts Lucia naively. 

“So Madame Morazan made your education com- 
plete?” suggests Andrus. Conway has made no re- 
mark, but his eyes have in them a startled gleam. He 
is apparently thinking deeply. 

“Indeed she did!” answers the girl. “Sofia set for 
me to copy a long letter of receipts for securities — 
Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe General Fours, Chicago, 
Rock Island & Pacific Fives, Union Pacific General 
Fours, Lake Shore First Mortgage Bonds, New York, 
New Haven & Hartford, etc., etc. ; so many I’m tired 
of thinking of them. ‘That,’ she said, ‘will settle your 
correspondence with Mr. Arturo Enrique Vannez.’ 
When I had copied it without flaw and was looking at 
my ink-stained fingers, mamma questioned : ‘What 
should you do to make this document complete?’ ‘It 


PHIL CONWAY. 


207 


must be acknowledged before a notary public,’ said I, 
for mamma had taught me mercantile methods very 
thoroughly. ‘Let us see if you can do it V she laughed, 
and sent for the little notary, Mr. Johnson, who had 
a desk in the real estate office round on Eighth Avenue. 
Mr. Johnson came in and, after I had gone through it 
just like a business woman, made affidavit and all that, 
you know. Mamma gave me a kiss and said: ‘I 
think you have graduated, my dear!’ That afternoon 
I was at the modiste’s, and Dios mio, two days after- 
wards, Phil, you saw me tumbling about over a train. 
But you’ll forgive me, Mr. Von Tschudi, for letting my 
tongue run riot. I haven’t had a chance to talk for 
three hours.” 

“Miss Sedgwick and Miss Westinghouse were here,” 
suggests Andrus roguishly. 

“Yes, not a word said I!” ejaculates Miss Morazan. 
“But now avenge I myself on you.” And the two laugh 
merrily. 

Into this Conway intrudes in business tones : “Ma- * 
dame Morazan set copies for you, didn’t she, Lucia?” 

“Yes, dear.” 

“You wrote them in letter form ?” 

“Of course, on sheets of paper, regular letters, ad- 
dressed them, signed them, sealed them, gave them to 
mamma, did everything but post them. All was busi- 
ness except the reality of it. That’s what used to 
break my heart. My father, you know, died that I 
might be rich; he was murdered because of his de- 
votion to me.” Suddenly the girl’s face becomes that 
of a woman ; the softness leaves her eyes, which blaze 
with intense passion, more awful because it is sup- 
pressed. “Oh, if I could but meet his assassins,” she 
mutters, “those who brought about his death 1” Gazing 
into the past, she rises, draws her fine form up and 


2o8 


PHIL CONWAY. 


stands before her dismayed guests a priestess of ven- 
geance. 

At this outbreak of his sweetheart Conway shudders. 
He remembers that revelation has been promised to 
Lucia, and wonders if those lovely eyes will be turned 
menacingly upon him and that white hand be raised 
against him. To her he says very tenderly : “When 
we are married I shall teach you to forget, my darling. 
You will be happier in loving than in hating, Lucia.” 

At his words, the girl’s eyes fill with tears. “Oh, 
yes; happier in loving — youT she cries ardently, and 
were it not for Andrus’s presence Philip’s betrothed 
would throw herself impulsively in his arms; as it is 
she contents herself by getting hold of his hand and 
giving it a little squeeze. 

Apparently anxious to turn her thoughts from her 
father, her lover says quickly : “Lucia, you have your 
copy-book ?” 

“Oh, you mean the one mamma set for me? Cer- 
tainly; it’s in my desk, I think.” 

“Let me look at it, will you dear?” 

“Why, of course, if you wish. What do you want 
it for ? There’s only mamma’s writing in it, not mine ?” 

“Tell you when I see it, pet,” whispers Conway 
craftily. 

“Then it is yours, mi queridoT 

The moment Lucia’s light feet bear her out of the 
room Philip whispers : “By heaven, this is very curi- 
ous. Business letters signed by Lucia Morairan to a 
real man who sends a present.” 

“And the letters written from set copies by Madame 
Morazan !” grins Andrus, as the two gaze at each other 
with startled eyes. 

A moment later Lucia flits back again with dis- 
appointed face. “My copy-book has disappeared,” she 
pouts. “Pm so careless about my things. Perhaps I 


PHIL CONWAY. 


209 


lost it when we moved from the flat.” She taps hef 
white brow with her pretty fingers, then exclaims : “But 
no, it was here somewhere; but since Tve been pack- 
ing for my wedding tour mamma has gone over my 
things for me. She may have thrown it away. I would 
have asked her, but Sofia is in the music room now talk- 
ing to Friederich. Do you know that marriage is 
catching?” she laughs. “I think they are now arrang- 
ing their happy day. Then I shall be so delighted. 
Dear mamma, who has been so good to me and sur- 
rounded me with such luxury!” Turning to Von 
Tschtidi, she explains : “You know, Madame Morazan 
is engaged to Mr. Osterfeldt, the young banker. I 
should have a run in and asked her about the copy- 
book, but lovers don’t care for visitors.” 

Perhaps noticing a suggestion . in the young lady’s 
tone, Andrus laughs : “Miss Morazan, your eyes say 
the same as my good friend Conway’s. I shall not re- 
main a moment after I have seen your mother and 
obtained her views of these unwarranted articles that 
were placed in this evening’s journals.” 

“Oh, don’t think me inhospitable,” cries the young 
hostess hastily. “Of course Phil and I have lots to 
talk about, our wedding is so near; but don’t let that 
hurry you. Philip will tell me what Manuel says about 
our little house at Lakewood later on. What do you 
think of the presents I am giving my bridesmaids?” 
She turns to some very pretty lockets that are on a 
side table. “Mamma selected them herself, and also 
my trousseau. Oh, she’s been very kind to me. It’s 
simply exquisite, everything about it. I’ve got lots 
of other presents, too. See this beautiful silver 
service.” She tries to attract the attention of her fiancee 
who is in a brown study. “Where do you think that 
came from, Phil? From Guatemala, from your great 
friend, Mr. Bellinger ; he must have telegraphed for it. 


210 


PHIL CONWAY. 


He arrives to-morrow, doesn’t he? I’m very anxious 
to see him.” 

“When did you receive Mr. Bellinger’s gift?” re- 
marks Von Tschudi. 

“Oh, early this morning,” answers the young lady. 
“And Phil’s joke came this afternoon.” 

“You don’t remember the address of this mythical 
Arturo Enrique Vannez, do you, Miss Morazan?” sug- 
gests the German. 

“Remember the address ? Caspita, I shall never for- 
get it. It was 62 Cedar Street. I had inky fingers too 
often writing it. Philip should remember it also; I 
told him about it that day Vannez’s wretched letters 
kept me from going out in his automobile. But there’s 
mamma’s step in the hall now.” She listens a moment 
and whispers: “Yqs; Mr. Osterfeldt is going,” then 
pouts : “No, he is coming.” 

At this moment a brisk young man with a sharp, 
though rather precise North German face, steps be- 
tween the portieres and says : “Ah, I heard you were 
here, Conway. Permit me to sympathize with you on 
account of the absurd reports in the evening papers. 
How they got in God knows, but they have to publish 
something. Soon they’ll say Sofia has jilted me; but 
we’ve fixed the day. We shall be married two weeks 
from Thursday and leave for Europe on the Saturday 
following.” 

Being introduced to Von Tschudi, both gentlemen 
speak German together quite affably for a few minutes. 
Then another German voice, incisive, but with a soft, 
liquid, Viennese timbre, intrudes itself upon the con- 
versation. Dona Sofia Morazan has entered the apart- 
ment. She says in kindly tones : 

“Ah, SeTior Conway 1 !’ and extends to him a welcom- 
ing hand quite cordially. As he presents Von Tschudi 
and explains his business, she breaks out indignantly : 


PHIL CONWAY. 


21 1 


“Fm happy that you are here as the representative of 
the Amerian Newspaper Association, Mein Herr. 
Please put in every paper in this country a most em- 
phatic denial from the mother of the bride, that any 
postponement of the ceremony has for one instant been 
in contemplation — that is, on the part of Lucia and 
myself.” 

“Or upon mine !” says Conway eag^erly. 

“Yes, we know you’re in love with little Lucia,” 
laughs Madame Morazan. 

“And little Lucia is in love with him,” says his be- 
trothed ardently. “Why, Fve loved him ever since he 
tried to save my poor father’s life. But I won’t think 
of that now, we’re so happy. Papa would be happy 
too if he saw me here. I know he thought Philip was 
his very good friend.” Then she asks rapidly : “Mam- 
ma, I was looking for that old business copy-book full 
of those letters of mercantile correspondence that you 
taught me. What has become of it?” 

“Why, I destroyed it only the other day,” answers 
Sofia. “As I was looking over your things packing 
them for your new home I came upon it and tore it 
up. L, didn’t suppose that you would care particularly 
for it, Lucia; you know you used to cry over those 
letters sometimes when I kept you in because you didn’t 
write them very well.” 

“Oh, yes, mamma ; that was when we were poor and 
you used to think I might have to become a typewriter 
and wanted to teach me that.” 

“What did you want the letters for ?” Madame'Mora- 
zan’s voice indicates a slight interest. 

“Why, I thought,” replies Lucia, “as Pd a present 
from the mythical gentleman I had addressed so many 
times ” 

“Who was that ?” Sofia’s tone seems a trifle strained. 

“Why, Arturo Enrique Vannez, No. 62 Cedar Street.” 


212 


PHIL CONWAY. 


“Arturo Vannez !” 

“Yes, Philip has played a little joke on me, mamma, 
I think. I’ve been looking for presents from Paul 
Smith and Jonas Hitchcock; I used to write to them 
also. They were secondary fellows; they might only 
send me hat-pins or fans. This is a magnificent brace- 
let, with the card of Arturo Enrique Vannez ! It’s on 
my arm now.” 

“Let me see it, my child.” 

“Certainly, mamma.” Lucia extends her hand and 
places under Madame Morazan’s eyes the emerald and 
diamonds. Her mother bends down and inspects the 
bauble carefully, then says briskly : “That is not the 
joke of Philip; that is a joke of mine, my dear!” 

“Of you?” 

' “Certainly. I had the card printed and you won’t 
get any presents from Messrs. Hitchcock and Smith; 
I didn’t think they were worth the trouble,” laughs 
the lady. 

“Oh, you fairy mother !” cries the girl, and puts her 
arms about the white neck of Sofia Morazan. Giving 
her a sweet kiss, she laughs: “Phil, mamma’s ahead 
of you this time, isn’t she ? 

“I did not intend to tell you until after the wedding,” 
observes Sofia. ''Ach Gott, I thought the bracelet would 
make up for those tears when I feared you would have 
to earn your living by being a business girl. I’ve the 
bill for it in my pocket. See, a diamond and emerald 
bracelet!” Sofia produces the document, places it 
under both Conway’s and Lucia’s eyes and laughs : “I 
am Arturo Enrique Vannez, pet.” 

Relief flies over Philip’s face, which had been 
strained ; he cries : “I’ll kiss too !” Springs up, puts his 
arms round the magnificent neck of Sofia and imprints 
a hearty salute upon her lips, though Osterfeldt glares 
at him jealously and remarks: “You’re only marry- 


PHIL CONWAY. 


213 


ing one in the family ; don’t forget that, Conway. I’m 
marrying the other.” 

“Oh, I can kiss my mother, even if she is very young, 
I guess,” says the American easily, and they all get to 
laughing merrily, for Sofia Morazan this evening, in 
a light evening gown cut decollete de rigeiir and dis- 
playing dazzling shoulders and gleaming bust, presents 
as many excuses for such a costume as is possible for 
a woman to give, and looks scarce twenty-eight. 

'‘Ach Himmel” interjects Von Tschudi enthusi- 
astically, “no one must call her mother ; that’s an out- 
rage! Dona Sofia and Dona Lucia look like sisters.” 

“Ah, you gentlemen of the press always know how 
to say complimentary things when you want to,” re- 
marks the older lady, and Andrus finds his happy 
speech has installed him in the good graces of the fair 
Sofia. Taking his hint, Madame Morazan places her 
white arm about Lucia’s fairy waist and the two do 
look like sisters ; though the girl has the delicate com- 
plexion of a pure Castilian blonde, and the widow is 
of the fascinating South German brunette type. 

“Oh, v^lien it comes to authority, she’s my mamma 
straight enough,” laughs Lucia. “Why, at your rooms 
yesterday, Phil, she actually came down on me hard 
for using the ‘up-to-date’ when I said you were a little 
‘dotty,’ going off for fifteen minutes to get Madeira 
Bual, when any other wine would have done as well.” 

“My child,” says Sofia sharply, “you are using slang 
again. Be careful ” 

“Or mamma won’t give me any more fairy bridal 
gifts 1” cries Lucia and stops Sofia’s lips with another 
grateful kiss. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


“before the altar I BURY MY FATHER'S WRONGS.’^ 

A few moments after the hostess suggests, as the 
evening is still early, that they step into the dining 
room. Perhaps no meal brings people more en rapport 
that petit soupe. Over a glass of champagne Tschudi 
toasts the two coming brides, lingering by the side of 
the more mature one until Osterfeldt, who is of a jeal- 
ous disposition, grows almost uneasy. 

Perhaps he has cause to, for the fat little German's 
glances at the beautiful widow indicate extreme ad- 
miration both of her physical charms, which are superb, 
and her brilliant mentality which seems to fascinate 
him. “You should never call yourself mother again,” 
he laughs. “If you did, I would not believe you.” 

“But Herr Von Tschudi, you haven’t seen my little 
boy, young Jose,” giggles Sofia, turning away her 
head bashfully from his ardent glance, as he fills her 
champagne glass. 

'‘Ach dll lieber Gott, even little Jose wouldn’t make 
me believe you a mother !” guffaws Andrus gallantly. 
“You have a Jungfrau figure^ Jungfrau graces, and 
Jungfrau blushes !” for Sofia has grown very red. 

During this, on the other side of the room Osterfeldt 
and Phil are smoking, Miss Lucia, who is in high 
spirits, running on to them vivaciously about her wed- 
ding presents. “You should see,” she says, “what my 
bridesmaids have given me. You know, to-morrow 
I have them all here at an afternoon lunch. Moira 
Jones has sent me a beautiful gold card receiver ; Belle 
Sedgwick, a superb opera-glass, which will bring the 


214 


PHIL CONWAY. 


215 


handsome tenor very near to me when I sit at the Met- 
ropolitan ; and Alicia Westinghouse a magnificent 
clock, so that I won’t keep you waiting too long when 
you escort me out, Senor Conway,” she laughs. ‘‘By 
the by, a most exquisite diamond ring came from Mrs. 
Actia Saxon this morning.” 

“Actia Saxon !” exclaims Phil somewhat discon- 
certedly. 

‘‘Yes, I sent her cards,” interjects Madame Mora- 
zan. “I thought you’d like it, and after her handsome 
present came I wrote this afternoon and asked her to 
come and see the bridal gifts. She might give Lucia 
a little social push, you know.” 

Here Osterfeldt calls Sofia’s attention away. He 
remarks under his breath : “The niece of the great 
capitalist would do your circle much good. You have ^ 
too many impecunious Bohemians about you, Georges 
Ramsey and that gang.” 

“And then you’ve done so much for her, Phil,” 
cries Lucia, “brought her back from Guatemala to her 
uncle on a mule.” The young lady emphasizes this 
with a piquant pout. “When I saw Actia’s ring I said : 
‘Caramha, old flames springing up again ! I shall ex- 
pect a bridal gift from Johnny Brewster!’ He was 
here three days ago.” 

“What, the electric lineman?” ejaculates Conway, 
emitting a savage puff from his cigar. 

“Yes, don’t scowl so! Johnny came to fix the wires 
in the foyer. Mamma, who is quite an electrician, 
thought there were too many lights on the circuit to 
be entirely safe; so she sent for Johnny, who is a 
very expert mechanic, I believe. As mamma was giv- 
ing Johnny his instructions in the hall and they were 
discussing low-tension currents, short circuits, blown- 
out fuses, ohms, amperes, etc., Johnny chanced to hear 
that I was about to marry you, and what do you think 


2i6 


PHIL CONWAY. 


he said ? It wasn’t very complimentary to me, accord- 
ing to Marigold, the parlor maid,” she pouts. “Mr. 
Johnny Brewster said: ‘Oh, that stuck up kid! I’ve 
got a lulu what kin give ’er cards and spades. I’ve 
been spliced a year and got a kid of my own. See !’ I 
was so glad that Johnny despised me, Phil,” continues 
his fiancee. “I was frightened when I learnt that 
mamma had told him you were going to marry me; 
beause you remember the awful threats Brewster had 
made against you.” 

The first of this oration has missed Sofia’s ears, 
which have just been burning with Von Tschudi’s 
ardent remarks as he bends over her white shoulders, 
but catching the lineman’s name she glances toward 
her charge. Her voice now comes in sharply : “Lucia 
is mistaken in what that man said, Mr. Conway. 
Though Brewster tried to make a joke of it to the 
servant girl, he got into a fearful rage on hearing of 
your coming marriage. I think you should be warned 
that your old rival uttered some very nasty threats 
about you, under his breath to me.” 

Sofia’s information has a cruel effect on the com- 
ing bride. She shudders: “Madre de DiosT between 
pallid lips and slips a trembling hand into that of her 
betrothed. 

“Don’t be alarmed, Lucia,” says Phil easily. “I 
think I can take care of myself ; but I thank you, just 
the same, Madame Morazan, for your intimation.” 

A moment later the German rises. He is altogether 
too astute to remain longer. He has made a good im- 
pression, and is willing to depart leaving it behind him. 
He says briskly to Conway: “I may see you at the 
Mephisto later,” and receives for his adieu a^grateful 
look from Lucia. 

“The Mephisto is your address,” remarks Dona 
Morazan affably. “I shall send you wedding cards. 


PHIL CONWAY. 


217 


Herr Von Tschudi. Your great friend Mr. Conway, I 
think forgot to place your name on his list.” 

'^Gott, Himmel, Donnerwetter, impossible!” cries the 
German in horrified tones, “when we have been close 
neighbors at the Mephisto for years. From your 
daughter’s remarks you have seen Mr. Conway’s apart- 
ment, Madame Morazan; mine is on the floor above, 
just opposite.” 

“Yes, I have been two or three times at Mr. Con- 
way’s, but only in the last four weeks. He insisted on 
giving Lucia and myself a lunch there one day, and I 
have chaperoned my child on one or two interviews 
connected with the furnishing of the little house at 
Lakewood.” 

“Very well. I’ll take the Eighth Avenue car,” re- 
marks Andrus, getting tp the door. “I’ve some busi- 
ness downtown contradicting that false report. Ma- 
dame Morazan, we newspaper men are regular birds 
of the night, parrots, nightingales and all that.” In 
German fashion he mutters gallantly: '‘Auf Wider- 
sehen!” and kisses the finely “formed hand of Dona 
Sofia. As he does so her fingers tremble slightly. Is 
it at the word “parrot,” or is it on account of the 
ardor of his salute; for the sociologist’s lips linger 
almost passionately on the well-formed fingers? 

“By the by, how is Chico.?” laughs Lucia. “Does 
he scream for biscuits as much as ever? Oh, how he 
implored Sofia for biscuits, biscuits, biscuits ! Till I 
yelled at him : ‘Get to the woods !’ and he answered : 
‘Oh, go bag your head 1’ ” 

Madame Morazan is about to open her lips, perhaps 
to reprove her daughter’s slang, when Conway an- 
swers promptly : “Chico is dead 1” 

“Dead!” screams Lucia. 

“Dead? Ach du lieber GotiT Sofia turns her dark 
eyes upon her informant. 


2i8 


PHtL CON WAV. 


^‘Yes, Manuel found the bird dead some time this 
forenoon when he returned from Lakewood. When I 
arrived from downtown about four o’clock the parrot 
and his cage had been deported.” 

“Why, I thought parrots lived very long,” mutters 
Lucia, her face growing sad. 

“Yes, but parrots die, just the same,” observes Von 
Tschudi, his eyes turned with admiration upon his 
client. “A great stroke, that,” he thinks, “putting the 
discovery of the parrot’s death and the removal of his 
cage during the forenoon, when the electric current 
was probably turned off from the wire. Verdamnit, 
Mein Herr Conway is beginning to open his eyes !” 

The parrot’s death doesn’t apparently weigh very 
greatly on Madame Morazan’s spirits. As Lucia, with 
distressed face, pouts : “Why, I’d expected poor Chico 
to chat with me at Lakewood when Philip was away,” 
she says consolingly: “My child, you’ll have a better 
pet in Lakewood than a parrot, I hope.” 

“Yes, one you’ve given me, Madre queridaf' The 
young lady glides over to Sofia, places her arm ten- 
derly about her and emphasizes her last words with a 
daughter’s kiss. 

During this Von Tschudi bows himself from the 
room, grins at the Colonial clock as the footman as- 
sists him with his overcoat, tips the ‘flunky hand- 
somely, and passes into the street. 

Quite naturally after the German’s departure the 
two couples separate. Sofia and Osterfeldt are still in 
the dining room. Lucia and Conway have wandered 
into the parlor. Here the gentleman, after chatting of 
their Lakewood house with his sweetheart and inspect- 
ing her numerous handsome bridal gifts, takes a 
thoughtful look at the jewel case in which the diamond 
and emerald bracelet had been sent, and says quite 
lightly, though his eyes are reflective: “By the by, 


PHIL CONWAY. 


219 


Lucia, I suppose Madame Morazan gave you banking 
among her other business instructions? You said 
something about a bank-book.” 

“Well, I should think so ! Thoroughly !” answers 
his betrothed vivaciously. “I opened accounts with 
half a dozen banks ; I drew checks on the same against 
moneys deposited. Oh, it was piteous when I was so 
poor, handling mythical dollars by the hundred thor,- 
sand, that one day I petulantly tore up the biggest 
check book of the lot, and then — ” the girl hangs her 
head. 

“Well?” asks Phil sharply. 

“Well, then,” says Lucia, “I wouldn’t have told Mr. 
Von Tuschdi this, but I don’t mind telling you now — 
mamma did come down upon me; she made me write 
that bank account all up again from figures she took 
from her note-book, and then for my petulance kept 
me in my room all day. The next morning, however, she 
said pleasantly : ‘Since you don’t like that bank account, 
you can wipe it out my dear, by drawing a check for 
your full balance to cash.’ I did so. The figures were 
so many they made me wonder if any girl ever had 
so much money.” Here, noting a savage glance in her 
sweetheart’s eyes, Lucia continues apologetically : “But 
that was the only time dear mamma ever really 
punished me, Philip. She said that it was necessary 
for me to learn to earn my own living. She was going 
to teach me how to use the typewriter. She got one 
for me. But since she became rich the Remington is 
unused and dusty upstairs. She can write on it beauti- 
fully. Mamma seems to know everything.” 

“She seems to be almost an expert electrician?” sug- 
gests Conway. 

“Isn’t she?” babbles his affianced. “Sofia came to 
Guatemala City to take charge of the Government tele- 
graph office before she became my governess. But, 


220 


PHIL CONWAY. 


Phil, don’t look so cross. You don’t think I was very 
naughty to mamma about that check book, do you ?” 

“Naughty to mamma? Oh, you poor innocent!” 
The first is a kind of grim laugh; the second such a 
tender caress that his sweetheart runs on delightedly : 
“Innocent! You may thank mamma for that. Why, 
no girl has been better looked after in all New York 
than I have. Sofia has even inspected my letters.” 

“The devil !” 

“Oh, not yours !” cries the girl blushingly. “Those I 
have insisted on opening myself. But you are going?” 
She has an entreating tone, for Conway has risen hur- 
riedly. 

“I have some very important business to transact 
this evening, Lucia,” he says quite seriously. 

“Well, ril run down to the front door with you and 
take my last kiss there. I’ve a little secret for your 
ears !” In the hallway Lucia puts her light hand upon 
her lover’s arm and whispers : “I’ve been thinking — 
thinking of what you said to me when I let my passion 
run away with me about papa’s assassins. You cannot 
be happy, dear one, with a wife who has bloodshed in 
her heart. Therefore for you I shall bury my father’s 
wrongs and my just revenge when I stand before the 
altar with you. And that’s the day after to-morrow — 
think of it, Phil. The day after to-morrow — the day 
of my whole life !” 

The face of the coming bride is red as a rose; her 
beautiful eyes shine brilliant with love through happy 
tears. 

Even as Conway takes her in his arms she gasps : 
'‘Dios mio, how troubled your face is ! Is it those awful 
stocks? Don’t try to make a fortune too rapidly. 
Little money and much love!” And the dewy lips of 
his betrothed meet Phil’s in maiden modesty, yet 
freighted with the passion of the tropics. 


PHIL CONWAY. 


221 


Her words about her father’s murderers drive her 
affianced not only to despair — “but to action. He steps 
from the house and stands for a moment in meditation 
on the sidewalk; then tells his coachman to take him 
to the first corner drug store, looks hastily over the 
City Directory, gives an address to his driver and tells 
him : “Hurry !” 

Though the coachman drives very rapidly, it is two 
hours before Mr. Phil Conway reaches the “Me- 
phisto.” As he enters his parlor there is a strange 
look of astounded triumph in his face. As he turns 
up his electric lights he is muttering to himself : “She 
beats Wall Street. A green-goods man or a get-rich- 
quick scoundrel are babies in astute financial infamy 
compared with Sofia Morazan. Lucia’s business edu- 
cation beats any gold-brick game invented since Esau 
was robbed of his heritage.” 

He sits down and writes a few short memoranda. 
Just as this is completed there is a quick rap on his 
door. Phil opens it and says : “Come in. Von Tschudi ; 
I expected you. No one will interrupt us. I have as a 
precaution taken the telephone from the table. Manuel 
has gone to bed. What have you been doing?” 

“Well,” answers the German, “I have just been over 
to see Johnny Brewster.” 

“Pish, what does he matter?” says Conway im- 
patiently. 

“Only this,” grins Von Tschudi, “that if you had 
taken an electric shock through that parrot’s cage, I 
have evidence enough in my hands to put Brewster 
in the electric chair.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 


''her life first; her love afterward!” 

To this startling declaration, Conway says briskly: 
“The attempt upon my life is secondary. Have you 
yet discovered who sent the letter that threatens to 
make Lucia Morazan hate me ? You saw her this even- 
ing. Could any man who had once held her in his arms 
endure to lose her ?” 

“These visits to your affianced do not make you 
philosophical,” observes the German. “How can I 
make two and two four until I have said two and two ?” 

“All right, your evidence against Johnny Brewster?” 
mutters Phil. Seating himself almost indifferently, he 
pushes the cigars over to Von Tschudi. 

“Then listen to my story,” replies Andrus. “When 
I left Doha Morazan ’s I took the Eighth Avenue car 
and soon found myself near her old flat on West Fifty- 
eighth Street. Across the hallway from her lived 
Johnny Brewster. If he had not moved, I would find 
him ; the chances were I would find him, because Ma- 
dame Morazan found him when she sent for him to 
have the lights in her hall repaired. Well, I didn’t 
think it wise Johnny’s door-bell to ring, so into the 
saloon on the corner I walked. If a man who works 
with his muscles, is about at eleven o’clock, he’s gene- 
rally in a saloon. Brewster was there. In conversation 
with the loungers I soon discovered him. There were 
a lot of them discussing one of the late strikes. I soon 
became a hail-fellow-well-met with everybody. I ap- 
peared to be under the influence of beer and ordered 
beer for the crowd. The crowd, anxious to get under 

32 ? 


PHIL CONWAY. 


223 


its influence also, accepted my hospitality. At one of 
the tables I chanced to sit alongside of Johnny Brew- 
ster, and from his conversation learned he had not been 
working regularly. The walking delegate had, as he 
expressed it, put him on the bum by orderinof a strike 
a few days ago; so an offer of a temporary job from 
Madame Morazan caught him. He didn’t say anything 
to the walking delegate, went over and made a few 
dollars in Seventy-seventh Street. There wasn’t any- 
thing the matter with the foyer lights, though Sofia 
thought they were unsafe, said there were fourteen 
on the circuit when there were only eleven. That after- 
noon, after hearing that you were going to marry the 
girl that he had once put his heart upon, Mr. Brew- 
ster went down with his bag of tools and spent the 
whole of it looking for you and loitering about this 
apartment house.” 

“The devil you say !” exclaims Conway with increas- 
ing interest. 

“Yes,ohe was lounging about here from 2 o’clock till 
7 P.M. I have even the evidence of the clerk in the 
office below on that point, though Johnny, over his 
beer, confessed it to me himself. Then the wire that 
was to give you the electric shock is not only the same 
kind as Mr. Brewster used in fixing the foyer lights 
on West Seventy-seventh Street, hut it is part of the 
same coil” 

“How do you know that?” 

“Well, ordinarily such a thing would be very difficult 
to demonstrate, but I’ve the proof of it. These electric 
wires are manufactured in enormous quantities. Gene- 
rally speaking, an ordinary No. 12 wire could not be 
traced; but this coil of, wire has a manufacturer’s test 
number on it, 38756, and it was cut off diagonally 
across this mark. This end of the wire, that I picked 
up from where it had been tossed in the old Colonial 


PHIL CONWAY. 


clock ill Seventy-seventh Street, matches with this 
piece of wire that I took from Girton s apartment above 
our heads, the one that was to give you death ; further- 
more, when the two pieces are joined together they 
complete the manufacturer’s test number.” He 
matches the two pieces of wire and the number shows 
the diagonal line across the figures where the wire had 
been cut. 

‘‘By Jove, a pretty stiff case against Mr. Brewster,” 
observes Phil critically. 

“Yes,” answers Von Tschudi. “The electric lineman 
threatened if you married the girl to do you up ; hear- 
ing that you were to marry the girl, he made very 
nasty remarks about you, according to Madame Mora- 
zan. Then he came down here and loitered about this 
big apartment house all one afternoon; and then this 
clincher : The wire that was to kill you was part of 
the very coil with which Brewster repaired the lights 
in Dona Morazan’s dwelling.” 

“I’m rather glad you proved it on Johnny,” remarks 
Phil nonchalantly. “I feared you were beginning to 
suspect my future mother!” 

''Verdammt, so were you, weren’t you?” grins Von 
Tschudi. 

Here Conway astounds the German. He says 
shortly : “I am still.” 

tauscnd Teiifels!” gasps Andrus, his eyes big 
with admiration. 

“For my own salvation,” replies Phil, “this evening 
I put Wall Street speculation out of my brain and be- 
came as you suggested, an observer. Consequently 
I have noted things that I may have heard before, but 
which had missed my attention because, when at 
Lucia’s home, my thoughts were always on her love 
and my eyes on her beauty. My sweetheart’s copies of 
business correspondence, written in letter form, signed. 


PHIL CONWAY. 


225 


directed, enveloped, and addressed to Arturo Enrique 
Vannez, in the little flat in Fifty-eighth Street, made no 
impression on me; I was thinking only of the lovely 
amanuensis. But this evening, when a present of con- 
siderable value came with the engraved card of the 
mythical Arturo Enrique Vannez, it looked to me ex- 
tremely curious. Also Lucia’s statement of the receipt 
acknowledged by her before a notary public seemed too 
practical merely for the instruction of a typewriter girl. 
A little later Madame Morazan’s brilliant exclamation : 
‘I sent the present. I am Arturo Enrique Vannez!’ 
and her bill from Tiffany’s for a diamond and emerald 
bracelet, allayed my doubts just for a moment, and I 
kissed Sofia, delighted at having suspicion pass from 
the woman Lucia regards as mother.” 

*‘Herr Gott, that was a master-stroke I” ejaculates 
Von Tschudi. ‘T couldn’t catch that wonderful 
woman’s face as she leaned over looking at the bracelet 
on Lucia’s arm, but by the contraction of the muscles 
of the back of her swan-like neck I could see that she 
was thinking like a steam engine. Was she not superb 
as with ready wit she exclaimed : T am Arturo Enrique 
Vannez, my dear!’ and put under Lucia’s nose, and 
your nose too, that bill from Tiffany’s?” 

“Yes, but that bill from Tiffany’s didn’t go with me,” 
jeers Conway, “when I glanced at the jewel case in 
which the bauble came and saw it was labelled 
‘Kirkpatrick.’ ” 

''EntBiickend, you noticed that! We must get you 
on the detective force,” cries Von Tschudi rapturously. 
“Sofia to-morrow will probably return the bracelet she 
so luckily chanced to buy at Tiffany’s, and get a ruby 
instead of the emerald. Ah, mein Freund, I don’t know 
which to admire most, you or the magnificent widow.” 

“Well, I think I’m becoming somewhat of a sleuth,” 
observes Phil grimly. “After that, everything that 


226 


PHIL CONWAY. 


Sofia did, or what was said about her, was critically 
inspected by me. Lucia’s remarks about her mother’s 
technical electrical knowledge surprised me and set 
me to thinking very hard. It isn’t every woman who 
knows that twelve lights on a circuit is the limit of 
safety and can talk intelligently about blowing out 
fuses, short-circuits, ohms, and that kind of thing. 
After you had gone, a few questions drew from Lucia, 
when we were alone in the parlor, the fact that Sofia 
Whenclause, before she became her governess, had 
come to Gautemala as an employee in the Telegraph 
Department. Hence Sofia’s electrical knowledge.” Con- 
way reflects a moment and continues : “What you say 
about Johnny Brewster has set me to speculating again. 
I think I can outline quite closely Madame Morazan’s 
performances. She sent for Johnny Brewster design- 
edly. The electric lineman who is out of work, eagerly 
accepted a job that she manufactured for him, for 
apparently the change in the circuit of her foyer lights 
was not imperative. Then she told him I was about to 
marry Lucia, hoping to fill him with rage against me ; 
she remembered the threats he had made ; next she 
contrived that Johnny leave a portion of the wire he 
was working with at her home and sent him to my 
flat on some pretext to wait for me ; I don’t know what 
that was.” 

“But I do,” answers Von Tschudi. “Johnny Brew- 
ster, over his beer, informed me that Madame Mora- 
zan sent him to get a job from you on your Lakewood 
cottage, putting in bells or something of that kind; 
that he waited three days ago, all the afternoon till 
seven o’clock and could not see you.” 

“Ah, yes, that was one of the afternoons I was over 
at Lakewood. Sofia knew I wouldn’t be back till nine 
or ten o’clock and of course Johnny wouldn’t see me,” 
exclaims Conway. 


PHIL CONWAY. 


227 


“Well, Mr. Brewster walked up to Madame Mora- 
zan and got his pay for the time he had been loiter- 
ing around this building with his electrical tool-bag 
in his hands,” chuckles Von Tschudi. “But he would 
have got more than his pay for that job if the parrot’s 
cage had electrocuted you, for Madame Morazan cut 
the wire he had left in her house diagonally across 
the manufacturer’s number, and left the end care- 
lessly in her Colonial clock so that it could be found 
accidentally at the proper time and identified if neces- 
sary. The other portion she brought here in her pocket 
the afternoon of the day on which I discovered your 
dead parrot. Sofia had been in this house before. 
She knew that Girton’s unoccupied flat had a high- 
tension wire in it.” 

“How do you make that out?” asks Phil, opening 
his eyes. 

“Girton has her picture.” 

“The devil!” 

“Yes. He is foolishly proud whenever he can get 
pretty women to photograph. Ramsey, the illustrator 
that you mentioned as being one of Madame Morazan’s 
circle, is a friend of Girton’s. Probably he induced 
Sofia, with a lot of other pretty women, to sit for pic- 
tures to the camera fiend, upstairs. Beautiful women 
like to be photographed. No matter how astute the 
perpetrator of a crime, sometimes circumstances rise 
up against him. When Madame Morazan was photo- 
graphed she had no idea of using that high-tension 
wire to bring about your death. Perhaps she had no 
expectation of Girton’s exhibiting her photograph. He 
showed it to me casually, with a lot of others. Of 
course until I entered Madame Morazan’s house on 
Seventy-seventh Street I had no idea that I had looked 
upon her face before, but the minute she entered that 
room I remembered ; and her photograph grew to life- 


228 


PHIL CONWAY. 


size in my eyes. Thus all b.ecame clear to me. Sofia 
requested you to order Madeira Bual, an errand that 
would keep you fifteen minutes. Lucia, occupied in 
looking at your curiosities, didn’t pay much attention 
to Sofia. In ten minutes Madame Morazan had slipped 
upstairs, scratched the insulation from the high-ten- 
sion wire with a scissors she had picked up in your 
room, breaking them in her haste and leaving the frag- 
ment of steel behind her. The connection made, she 
dropped the wire out of the window above, then came 
down here, gave the parrot a biscuit, and hooked to 
Chico’s cage the wire that killed the poor bird, and 
would have probably murdered you !” 

“Unless I had been warned,” remarks Conway grate- 
fully. After a moment’s consideration he asks : “But 
how did Sofia know Girton’s rooms were vacant and 
get the key to enter them ?” 

“Perhaps Ramsey, his friend, mentioned to her that 
Girton had moved. Quite likely she had been up on 
the floor above and had seen the key, left by a care- 
less bell-boy in the lock. They were exhibiting the 
apartments yesterday morning,” suggests Von Tschudi. 

“Holy poker, she was up there!” cries Conway. 
“Lucia and she were coming down the stairs as I 
opened my door to meet them. Sofia said the elevator 
boy had made a mistake and taken them one floor too 
high.” Then, looking quizzically at the German, he 
remarks : “But you haven’t told me the motive. That’s 
what you have been crying out to me all through this 
affair. Motive! Motive!” 

“The motive I hope to discover to-morrow,” returns 
Andrus. 

“The motive I have discovered to-night!” answers 
Phil triumphantly. “While you have been chatting to 
Johnny Brewster I have been holding consultation 
with the Great First Cause.” 


PHIL CONWAY. 


229 


‘‘Em tausend Teufels!” ejaculates Von Tschudi, 
though he is almost speechless with admiration. A 
moment after he mutters : “You didn’t need my aid 
in this affair.” 

“Oh, yes, I did,” says Conway gratefully. “It was 
you who first called my observation to the dangers 
about me. When not occupied with a great Wall Street 
speculation I thought only of my lovely fiancee and 
my coming wedding. Had it not been for you I should 
have had a funeral instead. Now that I have seen 
him I have written for you. Von Tschudi, these in- 
structions.” He hands Andrus some carefully-thought- 
out notes and continues : “ W e must have the complete 
evidence of this before we attack Madame Morazan. 
Do you know that I fear the astute mind of that 
woman,” he goes on gloomily. “She took the knowl- 
edge of Chico’s death too placidly. She seemed rather 
relieved that I had escaped electrocution. That means 
she has some better way of stopping my marriage to 
Lucia, because the only reason that makes her wish 
to prevent Lucia’s wedding me is that she fears when 
I become Miss Morazan’s husband, I will discover 
her frauds upon my wife and expose them. Besides, 
I am handicapped by my darling’s love for this woman 
Avhom she now regards as a mother. I do not see my 
way to punish this wretch without bringing misery 
upon my affianced.” 

“Oh, leave her punishment to me,” smiles Von 
Tschudi. “That shall be my province, and it will bring 
no tears to Lucia’s eyes, I swear it.” An excited gleam 
is on the German’s face. 

But the American, whose thoughts are more on 
love than on hate, says : “That is immaterial for the 
present. What I fear is the revelation to Lucia of 
my unfortunate telegram from Coban which brought 
about Don Diego’s death. That still hangs over me. 


230 


PHIL CONWAY. 


If she hears of that my darling’s lost to me. She may 
not hate me, but it is as if I had held a gun in my 
hand and by accident shot her father. She couldn’t 
marry me. That is what is threatened in this type- 
written letter, that we know no more about than we 
did when I first received it this afternoon.” 

‘‘Ah, yes, the typewritten letter by Madame Mora- 
zan,” observes Von Tschudi placidly. 

At this Conway gives a great start and exclaims : 
“You think she wrote it, when it threatens to disclose 
facts that she doesn’t know?” 

“Facts that she learnt from your lips over that tele- 
phone. You remember you said she lied when she 
declared that only a buzzing came to her over the 
wire.” 

“Yes, but the newspaper article, that gave rise to 
my statement to you was in type before Sofia heard 
anything,” remarks Phil. 

“Humph, then you’re worse off than I thought,” 
murmurs the German. “Two people are interested in 
keeping you from wedding Doha Lucia.” 

“Could it be possible,” says Phil in a startled kind 
of way, “that Mrs. Saxon had that article inserted in 
the newspapers?” 

“I have changed my mind about that and now think 
it possible,” answers Von Tschudi. “A woman who 
loves as she does, and will even risk her uncle’s hatred 
in the hopes of marrying you — her anonymous letters 
and her secret visit to you here all indicate that — may 
have brought about the insertion of that article hoping 
to recall to your mind an unfortunate incident that 
would suggest you should not wed the daughter of 
Don Diego. If so, you may be in a worse way than 
you imagine.” 

As Conway looks at him with gloomy eyes. Von 
Tschudi suddenly asks : “Do you think Sofia has any 


i^HIL CON WAV. 231 

idea of Mrs. Saxon’s treachery to her uncle as to the 
American Metal Stock?” 

“I don’t think so; most of the anonymous letters I 
destroyed as I received them,” answers Phil. “You 
noticed one I had torn up and thrown in my waste- 
paper basket. A few of the more important epistles 
I have kept tied up in a bundle in my desk. I’ll find 
them for you.” 

As Conway is about to open a drawer in his writing 
table, which is littered by quite a miscellaneous corre- 
spondence, a thumping on the door interrupts him and 
a thirsty voice calls: “Got any tipple, old night 
hawk ?” 

On Conway opening his portal, Mr. Harry Bloomer 
half staggers in. A slight huskiness is in his voice and 
a decided thickness in his tongue as he says : “Excuse 
me, young Midas, but that Junior Cotillion was a very 
icy affair; not enough fizz. When I got to my rooms 
I was about to turn on the Scotch, but some of the 
chappies had drained the ‘bot’; so I came over to see 
if you hadn’t some on tap. Thank you,” he says as 
Conway pours out the liquor requested. “That goes to 
the right spot.” Helping himself to a weed and light- 
ing it, he continues in the frankness of inebriety: 
“You’ve done me one or two good turns, my chappie, 
and now I’ll do you another. That tailor-made girl of 
yours is being trotted after.” 

“Trotted after!” exclaim both Von Tschudi and 
Conway in a breath. 

“Sure. Don’t you catch on ? Have you bats in your 
belfries, both of you ?” he winks in a knowing manner. 

“How do you guess this ?” asks Phil eagerly. 

“Little Natalie, of the comic opera, left my rooms at 
seven in the evening. She sports a very fetching blue 
tailor-made gown. You, Von Tschudi, scared her stiff 
by stepping alongside of her and giving her items about 


232 


PHIL CONWAY. 


dodging people in Sherry’s. Ye see, the ballet- 
master, her husband, is a kind of jealous, dagger-in- 
the-back son of Italy. She didn’t answer you but got 
into a coupe and scooted to the theatre. At the stage 
entrance as she put aside her veil a man who had rid- 
den on the box with her driver jumped off the hack. 
Turning upon him desperately, she said : ‘What do 
you want?’ 

“ ‘Not you' grinned the fellow ; then he asked dis- 
appointedly: ‘Are there two tailor-made gowns like 
that in town?’ Natalie chirped this into my ear be- 
tween the acts to-night. I’ve got a pull with the 
management and get behind the scenes, ye know. 
Natalie says there is another tailor-made gown exactly 
like hers, but there are only two, imported by some 
Fifth Avenue thief. I know that because I put up the 
ducats for Natalie’s. So you catch on that it’s the 
other woman who wears that blue tailor-made gown 
that’s being rubbered, the one that came to your rooms, 
my financial Joseph. I saw her coming up the stairs 
and thought she was Natalie for a minute, but Natalie 
had on blue stockings and your gal wore black. Regu- 
lar first-row-in-the-ballet ankles though, old chappie.” 

“How do I know?” says Phil stiffly, glaring at him. 

“Awh, make a stab at the ankles!” guffaws Mr. 
Bloomer. “You keep an eye out for her husband, 
that’s all, Conway.” Then he shakes his head in half 
drunken morality : “And the wedding bells sounding, 
too! You Wall Street men on the woman question 
are simply devils T 

So Mr. Bloomer goes away leaving Mr. Philip Con- 
way in a very brown study. He shudders: “If Lucia 
should hear, she would not understand,” then suddenly 
turns, looks in the drawer of his writing table and 
utters a quick exclamation. “Actia Saxon’s letters are 
not here,” he says. 


PHIL CONWAY. 


233 


“Yes, it’s a dangerous thing leaving correspondence 
about when ladies are in the room,” observes the soci- 
ologist. 

“You think Madame Morazan stole these?” 

“I don’t know ; but I know my lady has something 
up her sleeve — perhaps two things. But let her think 
she’s got them,” implores the German in a frightened 
voice. “For God’s sake until you strike her down, 
Herr Conway, let Sofia think that she’s winning !” 

“I don’t exactly take you,” answers Phil. 

“Why, your death wpuld have stopped your mar- 
riage to Lucia Morazan. The death of the other party 
to the nuptial contract would also stop that marriage.” 
This is in a whisper. 

“My God, you don’t mean that !” gasps Conway, 
and the man who had been almost indifferent to the 
attempt on his own life grows pallid to his lips and 
commences to tremble at danger to his beloved. He 
gasps : “By the heaven above me, if she dared !” Then 
his voice grows stern and decisive as he says: “I’ll 
stop all chance of that. The first instant that you im- 
agine this wretch suspects. Von Tschudi, have Sofia 
Morazan arrested at once. I shall do the same; even 
if it brings about the knowledge of my unfortunate 
connection with Don Diego’s death. It is Lucia’s life 
first; her love afterwards! For that purpose do you 
keep about the house of Sofia Morazan.” Phil sits 
hurriedly down and writes a check. “Here is money 
to buy so handsome a present for the bride that it will 
give you an excuse of presenting it in person. There 
is a bridesmaids’ lunch to-morrow afternoon. Be 
there!” 

“Oh, yes, a present will be a very good excuse, but 
I’ve got a better one!” grins Von Tschudi. “I am in 
love with Madame Morazan ! That’s always an excuse 
to a pretty woman. Oh, donnerwetter, but I’ll be the 


234 


PHIL CONWAY. 


half-crazy, frantic, amorous German till young Oster- 
feldt grows green with jealousy. My Romeo passion 
will permit me, without arousing her suspicions, to be 
forever bending over Sofia’s handsome shoulders, 
whispering into her pink ear and plucking the secrets 
from her very soul.” 

'‘Madame Morazan is a very attractive woman,” says 
Phil sharply. “Be careful that you don’t fall in love 
with her and turn traitor to me.” 

“In this matter, Herr Conway, I am your man Fri- 
day. To-morrow when you come up from business I 
will have done the things you have directed,” remarks 
Von Tschudi with a bow. 

He passes from the apartment, but in the hall pauses 
and half mutters these curious words : “Untrue to this 
American stock broker ! That is impossible, for in his 
success is my only hope of winning her.” 



CHAPTER XV. 


THE bridesmaids" LUNCH. 

Von Tschudi has only had four hours’ sleep when the 
next morning he is aroused by Conway thumping upon 
his door. ‘T’ve something to tell you !” calls the stock 
broker and enters the German’s room as soon as the 
door is opened. “Only ten minutes ago,” he says, 
“Lucia called me up on the ’phone, greatly excited. 
Madame Morazan has informed her she is going to 
settle a hundred thousand dollars on her on her wed- 
ding day. Sofia said she would have made it more, 
only Osterfeldt objected. ‘Do you think I ought to take 
it, Phil ?’ Lucia asked, ‘when Madame Morazan’s 
future husband doesn’t want me to have it? Dear 
mamma told me to obtain your opinion on the matter.’ ” 

“What did you reply?” asks Andrus eagerly. 

“Without a moment’s hesitation,” remarks Phil, “I 
’phoned : ‘Take it ! Thank and kiss mamma for me !’ 
Though that last, stuck in my throat. Don’t you see,” 
he continues, “the one hundred thousand is Madame 
Morazan’s offer of a compromise. Had I dissented 
or even hesitated she would have guessed that I have 
discovered that she has robbed my darling of an 
enormous sum. Sofia’s belief in my ignorance is 
Lucia’s safety, because when I strike the wretch my 
blow will be a settler. But it was deuced hard to listen 
to my darling’s ravings of gratitude to her dear mamma 
and keep my mouth shut. Don’t forget my instruc- 
tions, Von Tschudi, especially as to discovering if pos- 
sible whether Bostwick is following Mrs. Saxon.” 

“Don’t forget the one thousand shares I ordered sold 


235 


236 


PHIL CONWAY. 


of American Metal. Be a pretty hot day in Wall 
Street, I imagine.” 

“Yes, but don’t hesitate to ’phone me if you want 
me,” says Conway. “I am going down to Wall Street 
because my fortune is there, but my heart is uptown. 
I’ll find time during the day to make absolutely certain 
of how much Lucia’s writing lessons have cost my 
plundered dear one. No thank you. I’ve already break- 
fasted,” and the stock operator runs off to drive down- 
town in a hansom to a tremendous battle of bulls and 
bears. 

During the morning Von Tschudi occupies himself 
with some of the errands suggested by Phil’s memo- 
randa. Apparently he is successful in these for he is 
whistling quite contentedly when Bostwick comes in to 
see him. They sit down in conference in Von 
Tschudi’s own apartments, which were very much 
more modest, both as to size and furnishings, than 
those of the Wall Street operator. 

“I haven’t been able to get quite onto the party who 
put that, or rather those articles in the newspapers,” 
reports the detective, “for there are a whole lot of ’em ; 
but I think they emanated from a woman.” 

“Why so?” remarks the German. 

“Well, because I have discovered the article was 
originally sent to ‘Town Topics’ and ‘The New Yorker’ 
a week ago, but neither of ’em published it, probably 
because it was too vague. What the deuce has the 
death of poor old Morazan to do with his daughter’s 
wedding? But a good many of the items in these two 
journals come from women so.ciety reporters who pick 
up their news from the tattle and chit-chat of some of 
the ladies in our Smart Set. Therefore^ I calculate 
this ’ere rumor emanated from a woman.” 

“I’m afraid,” smiles Von Tschudi, “you’ve been too 


PHIL CONWAY. 


237 


busy, Herr Bostwick, with something else to do full 
justice to this matter.'’ 

“Well, of course I have other biz on my hands.” 

“Yes, that little divorce affair you are on in this 
building; that pretty woman I told you about leaving 
Bloomer’s rooms, eh ?” laughs the German. 

“Aw, shucks,” jeers the detective, “that girl in that 
tailor-made gown leaving Bloomer's yesterday don’t 
amount to nothin’ ! My man says she’s only little Na- 
talie of the Opera Comique ; her ballet-master husband 
wouldn’t give a copper for evidence agin’ her.” 

This offhand remark increases Andrus’s suspicion 
that Bostwick was looking after Mrs. Saxon when he 
slouched into Conway’s apartment the night previous. 
He observes : “Well, find out if you can who -inserted 
this article, and let me know this evening, will you ?” 

“Sure !” returns Bostwick. “Conway pays the bill 
and he’s good for it, I reckon. They’re having a high 
old time in Wall Street, to-day. Seen the ticker? 
American Metal Common, fifty-two !” 

'^Herr Gott, Himmel, Donncrwetterr screams the 
German, and grows pale, for he fears Conway has sold 
his stock below this figure. 

“Yes, Wall Street touches most everybody,” grins 
the detective. “I’m ahead a thousand more on to-day’s 
quotations. Come down and let’s have a drink, I can 
stand it.” So the two go down together to the bar- 
room and both men look at the ticker ; American Metal 
Common is 52^. 

At this there is a cry of exultation from Bostwick 
and a muttered German curse from Andrus. He cogi- 
tates ruefully: “Is Conway’s lady informant deeper 
than I imagined ? Does Actia Saxon think to force my 
client to abandon this marriage by ruining him financi- 
ally, so that he may turn to her and her uncle’s mil- 


238 


PHIL CONWAY. 


lions? VerRiicht, this amorous widow may destroy the 
hopes I now hold.” 

During Von Tschudi’s brown study Bostwick has 
strolled to the bar counter and is elatedly ordering 
a whiskey straight. Joining him, the German asks for 
a glass of beer and suggests : “Supposing we sit down 
at one of the side tables and chat as we drink.” 

“Yes, that’s more sociable,” assents Reuben. Over 
their liquor, after a few remarks, the sociologist says : 
“That must have been quite a hard trip for you to 
Guatemala in pursuit of Saxon?” 

“Well, I should ejaculate !” mutters the detective. 
“After I had been on a mule two days I didn’t think 
I had a whole bone in my body.” 

“But what a journey it must have been to the ab- 
sconder’s wife, into those great mountains,” observes 
Andrus. 

“Yes, wasn’t she devoted to her scoundrel hus- 
band ?” says the detective admiringly. “Mrs. Saxon is 
a mighty high spirited, and between ourselves, a tar- 
nation beautiful woman, if Reuben Bostwick has any 
eyes !” 

“Ah, you have seen her?” 

“Haven’t I? I — I mean I have seen her picture; 
it was shown us so we could catch Saxon. But so 
long,” mutters the sleuth in a rather embarrassed tone 
and departs. 

Von Tschudi looks after him and cogitates : “That 
fellow is on Mrs. Saxon’s track now. Actia has been 
pointed out to him recently. Is this on account of 
Phil Conway ? If so, is it in behalf of her uncle or in 
the interests of my magnificent opponent?” 

But about this time an excited exclamation from a 
loiterer who has wandered to the ticker excites Von 
Tschudi’s curiosity. He steps to the instrument, which 
attracts him as a flame does a moth. American Metal 


PHIL CONWAY. 


239 


has gone down one point and is coming out apparently 
by the ream ! He telephones Phil, and receives a reply 
from a clerk in Conway’s office that his stock has been 
sold at 5234. This gives him great pleasure; he eats 
his lunch with a contented countenance, makes an 
elaborate afternoon toilet and after a little, walks 
down to Tiffany’s. Here he selects a very handsome 
brooch, one calling for the full amount of Conway’s 
very liberal check. Passing a hotel he goes into its 
barroom, glances at the stock ticker, and gives a mut- 
tered exclamation of joy: “American Metal is 49, and 
weak at that.” Therefore, quite contentedly he gets 
into a cab, drives uptown, taking another look at the 
ticker in the stock broker’s office in the Plaza Hotel. 
The closing quotation of American Metal Common is 
such that Von Tschudi is radiant as, about four o’clock 
in the afternoon, he enters the handsome foyer hall of 
Madame Sofia Morazan. 

One or two private carriages and a couple of cabs 
are in front of the building. The music of a little 
string orchestra and the chatter of pretty feminine 
voices and light laughter coming from above tell him 
the bridesmaids have finished eating and gone to the 
parlor. He can see in the dining room the butler clear- 
ing the table of the cut glass, painted china, and the 
floral decorations of Miss Lucia’s feast. To the foot- 
man he says : “Take my card up to Miss Morazan and 
say that I have called with a message from Herr Con- 
way.” “That will induce the young lady to receive 
me,” he thinks. 

It does ! 

“A message from Herr Conway” brings Lucia to the 
top of the stairs immediately. In an exquisite after- 
noon toilet she bends over the banister and cries 
eagerly to Von Tschudi, even before he reaches the 
landing: “You are come from Phil! What does he 


240 


PHIL CONWAY. 


say ? They have been having an awful battle in the 
Stock Board, Fm told. You’ve been down there? 
Mamma was so much excited about it that it nearly 
ruined my lunch. She was very angry at somebody 
giving her false information. Kuhl & Ketchum. — 
they’re her brokers, you know — sent up to her about 
it, this forenoon.” 

But it doesn’t take Lucia’s words to prove that 
Madame Morazan is interested in the stock commo- 
tion. She steps out, and seeing Von Tschudi, says : 
‘‘Lucia, attend to your guests!” As the bud returns 
to the parlor, Sofia asks eagerly : “Do you know what 
caused the rise of American Metal ?” 

“I only know that it closed at forty-six and a 
quarter,” answers the German blithely. 

‘‘Ach Gott, I know that too, thank Heaven; I was 
afraid that awful Cartwright Haswell had ruined me,” 
smiles Sofia. Then growing more placid, she remarks : 
“You have called, dear Mr. Von Tschudi ” 

“To present this gift to the bride,” whispers Andrus, 
“but really to see you, Schonste alter Frauen T His 
blue glasses are luminous as they rest upon Sofia 
Morazan. And well they may be, for the widow, in a 
handsome crepe de chine reception gown, looks remark- 
ably fascinating. “I thought that he wouldn’t be here,” 
continued Andrus excitedly. 

“He! Who?” 

“Oh, you know whom I mean ; the man who — ^but I 
cannot say the words. Only there are broken hearts 
within this very building now, Liehenswiirdigste alter 
Frauen r Von Tschudi rolls his eyes romantically at 
the beautiful widow. 

“Oh, you mustn’t say such things to me,” whispers 
Sofia coquettishly. “Mr. Osterfeldt wouldn’t ” 

“Of course Osterfeldt wouldn’t. Since I saw you I 


PHIL CONWAY. 


241 


have not slept, I have not eaten!” Andrus clasps his 
fat hand to his heart and rolls his eyes amorously. 

“Ah, but* perhaps you have drank?” remarks the 
\vi(k)w with a little laugh. 

“I have, gallons ! But they affect me no more than 
water on the burning desert sands! You remember 
how my lips touched you hand; they said: 'Ich Hebe 
DichH Ach Himmel, you make me forget the bride 
and her gift,” whispers the German, for Miss Lucia 
has just returned to them. 

“Herr Von Tschudi has brought you a beautiful 
present, Lucia,” observes Sofia, looking in a slightly 
doubting way at her new adrriirer, whose violent ardor 
somewhat surprises her, though she has a very good 
opinion of her own charms. 

“Her vanity is fighting with her common sense,” 
cogitates Andrus as he turns to Dona Lucia, and ex- 
hibiting the beautiful brooch, bows in his best form. 
As she utters an exclamation of delight, he says : “I 
would like to place this with my own hands among the 
bridal gifts.” 

“Ah, and see my bridesmaids, I suppose,” suggests 
the young lady archly. 

“Yes, Mein Gott, I already hear them!” laughs the 
German; for an excited magazin de modes conversa- 
tion, mixed with some gossipy slang, indicates a 
gathering of up-to-date young ladyhood. 

“Did he rubber ?” “Shirred,” “Lovely !” “Liberty 
Satin,” “White and Howard,” “Robe to be presented 
at Court in,” “Egan’s !” “Louise !” “What do you sport 
at the next dancing class ?” 

“Ten highballs! He was drunk at the junior cotil- 
lioo last night.” Then a chorus of : “Let us on the 
train !” “Get me a ticket !” 

All this in mixed sweet feminine voices; one per- 


242 


PHIL CONWAY. 


haps the sweetest of all, crying : “Why Chappie 
Bloomer needs one from the shoulder, he does V’ 

Into this conglomeration of pleasant sounds Von 
Tschudi walks, and finds himself bowing to half a 
dozen pretty girls, all frocked in their best and chatting 
excitedly. His present to the coming bride is hand- 
some enough to bring forth exclamations of delight 
and surprise. 

“After that gift you’re sure of an invitation to my 
wedding,” says Miss Pussy Johnson with a nod of ap- 
proval. She is the athletic young lady who had just 
suggested that Mr. Bloomer needed “one from the 
shoulder.” 

“Why, you mtist be a seven-figure capitalist !” cries 
Miss Daisy Pollock, the girl who had been talking 
about ten highballs. “You come right over here and 
sit by me.” 

But the German is more pleased to devote himself 
to the magnificent charms of his hostess. He follows 
Sofia about with that persistency peculiar to certain 
amorous Teutonic natures, and as opportunity presents 
itself, whispers compliments and romantic German love 
speeches that from their very daring seem to please the 
beautiful widow. 

He has the audacity to follow her down to the din- 
ing room when she descends to give some directions to 
her butler. That functionary has no sooner left the 
room, than Andrus bows before Madame Morazan 
and with murmured words of extravagant adulation, 
seizes her hand. The next instant Sofia finds Von 
Tschudi’s lips are indeed burning as they, in German 
style, salute her well-formed fingers. 

“Mr. Osterfeldt mightn’t like your ardor,” she says 
haughtily. 

“Hearts will speak, even if the tongue is still, 
GeliebteT sighs Andrus sadly. 

“Don’t you know I’m going to be married to Mn 


PHIL CONWAY. 


243 


Osterfeldt in two weeks?'’ she remarks coldly, though 
her cheeks glow. 

At this there is a muttered groan. ‘'Entsetzlich, but 
my soul has said another thing !” 

“Oh, your soul did?” jeers Sofia, and probably 
would grow very haughty v/ith her sudden admirer, 
but he abruptly astounds her by laughing: “I know 
what Mein Herz is thinking about.” 

“Indeed I doubt it!” Sofia’s face is almost angry. 

“You’re debating whether to box my ears and show 
me the door or let me kiss your pretty hand again.” 

‘‘Liehe Gott, you are a mind-reader!” ejaculates the 
lady, then utters a bashful gasp, for he has kissed not 
her hand, but her shapely wrist, and is murmuring : 
“You didn’t show me the door. Ah, you have as kind 
a heart as you have a lovely face, Jungfrau/' 

“What do you always call me maiden for? You 
know I am a widow !” she murmurs, growing red. 

“To me you are Jungfrau. I’ll think of you. I’ll 
love you only as Jungfrau!" Von Tschudi’s ardent 
lips are doing good work upon Sofia’s white forearm 
which is scarce protected by its lace sleeve. 

“Hush, be careful, you crazy fellow, somebody’s 
coming!” whispers the widow, and Von Tschudi 
guesses he is winning. The slightest secret between 
man and woman, he reflects, is the first link in a chain 
between them. 

The interruption is Marigold, the parlor maid. 
Coming in the abigail says : “Mrs. Saxon, mum ; she’s 
going upstairs.” 

A wave of triumph ripples Madame Morazan’s face ; 
she says hurriedly : “Excuse me, I must welcome her,” 
and glides into the foyer. 

Von Tschudi, stepping after her, glances up and 
sees ascending the stairway a lady of very graceful 
figure in a calling costume of exquisite design and 


244 


PHIL CONWAY. 


material. Just for a second a perfect foot is displayed 
beneath the satin train of the dress. It is trembling. 
He hears the footman in the hall above announce : 
“Mrs. Saxon!’’ Sofia is already hurrying up the stair- 
way, and the German smiles to himself : “It is the fly 
coming into the spider’s parlor. Strange she should 
come here. Is it the natural instinct to look behind 
and see how big* the dog that has bitten you or is it 
Madame Morazan’s note ?” 

Anxious to see how Conway’s betrothed greets the 
woman who was once her rival, Andrus strolls up- 
stairs, and, chatting to the guests, sees Actia Saxon 
looking at the dog that has bitten her. He notices that 
the lady who has risked so much for Philip Conway 
has just for a second an appearance of embarrassed 
shame as she takes Lucia’s outstretched hand ; the next 
instant this is banished by amazement, almost affright 
at the extreme loveliness of the coming bride. 

Sofia, standing near, has already greeted her guest, 
who is socially so well known that most of Lucia’s 
bridesmaids are looking admiringly at her ; though the 
athletic young lady, who is a social iconoclast, whispers 
to Van Tschudi : “It’s a pity that Saxon’s state-prison 
ambitions gave that dandy a cropper at the first 
hurdle.” 

Probably Miss Pussy Johnson is envious of Mrs. 
Saxon’s very chic Parisian gown and distinguished 
bearing; but there seems no such feeling in Lucia 
Morazan, whose fresh beauty, contrasted with Actia’s 
ethereal, yet more mature, charms, is as the bud to the 
bloom. Apparently the coming bride has full faith 
in her betrothed’s truth to her. She is saying : “That 
is a beautiful present you sent me, Mrs. Saxon, but I 
guess on whose account it came. You couldn’t send 
one to Phil, so you sent one to me. Do you know,” 
she adds archly, a slight tone of embarrassment in her 


PHIL CONWAY. 


245 


fresh young voice, “I was once a little jealous of you?” 

“Of me?” For one instant Actia’s face, which had 
grown sad at seeing the supreme loveliness of her rival, 
lights up and glows. 

“Yes ; that tete-a-tete muleback ride over the moun- 
tains of Verapaz,” laughs Lucia. “Oh, I know what a 
muleback ride through those beautiful trails of wild 
flowers means — its Indian huts, banana plantations, 
and the romance of the tropic forest. I hope Phil took 
as good care of you as he did of me by the banks of 
the Polochic.” 

“Yes, Mr. Conway was very thoughtful of my com- 
fort when he, as my uncle’s representative, brought 
me from VYrapaz,” murmurs Actia, adding: “But I 
can only stay a minute.” She turns to go; the babble 
about her of the coming wedding is more than she can 
bear, though she has nerved herself to present a tran- 
quil face to the young lady who has gained the man 
for whom she longs. 

“I hope you will be at the wedding, Mrs. Saxon,” 
pleads Lucia. “There’ll be other Central American 
friends present. Some of them you know. Charlie 
Bellinger; he’s to be Phil’s best man. He ought to 
arrive on the steamer to-day.” 

“Ah, Mr. Bellinger !” murmurs Actia languidly. 
“Yes, he was very kind to me when I was in Coban.” 
She strives for nonchalance, though Lucia’s thought- 
less reference to an episode she would wish forever 
forgotten, makes her guest turn towards the door. 

“Coban !” interjects Sofia, who seems now anxious 
to get into the conversation, “I stopped in that hole for 
eight hours once, I was so worn out with muleback 
riding; I’d never been on a mule before. I came by 
the Pacific and from San Jose reached Guatemala City 
by rail.” 

“At Coban eight hours !” Von Tschudi, who has been 


246 


PHIL CONWAY* 


chatting to Miss Sedgwick and Miss Westinghouse, 
wakes up. He had heard Phil say incidentally that 
Madame Morazan’s fatigue had made Don Diego’s 
party pause in that town. That must have been the 
day after his client sent the telegram. He looks 
sharply at Sofia, who is remarking cordially : “But you 
mustn’t go yet, Mrs. Saxon.’’ 

“I fear I must.” The lady has already reached the 
door. “My uncle will be up from downtown, and he 
likes to see me when he comes home tired from the 
labors of his banking house.” 

“Ah, yes, I presume he’s had a busy day of it,” re- 
marks Sofia, following her guest into the hall. 

But Lucia comes running out to them, and, extend- 
ing a cordial hand to Actia, says impulsively: “You 
have been Phil’s friend; Dios mio, you shall be my 
friend now.” 

The frank trust of her rival seems to overawe and 
embarrass Actia Saxon ; but she generously murmurs : 
“I had only heard of you before; until now I had no 
idea how lovely a bride was going to make Mr. Con- 
way happy.” 

Anxious to get from her place of torture she turns 
to go down the stairs, but Sofia wants a word with her. 
Madame Morazan says : “Lucia, Miss Sedgwick and 
Miss Johnson are going. Please bid them good-bye 
for me.” As Lucia passes down the stairway with her 
young friends, Sofia whispers hurriedly to Mrs. Saxon : 
“I dare not tell Lucia, but, do you know, I fear the 
wedding will not take place to-morrow.” 

“What ! Have you heard ?” Actia’s face, that had 
been sad, glows like the sun; her attitude, which had 
been listless, becomes alert with sudden hope. 

Madame Morazan regards her critically for a mo- 
ment, then says slowly : “Why, yes, it is rumored that 
the rise in American Metal stock to-day has brought 


PHIL CONWAY. 


247 


about Mr. Conway’s failure. I fear Phil will be too 
poor to marry.” 

“Impossible! Why, last night he said ” gasps 

Actia, then checks herself too late; the sharp ears of 
Sofia Morazan have drank in her words. 

Gazing over her shoulder, Von Tschudi reflects: 
'‘Mein Himmel, this female Machiavelli has discovered 
more by two sharp sentences than Bostwick has in all 
liis pursuit of Cartwright Haswell’s niece.” 

“Come with me into the dining room, dear Mrs. 
Saxon. I have a few^ words I wish to say to you 
privately,” whispers Sofia. 

“Yes, your note said that,” answers her visitor. “But 
I — I hardly think I can stay.” 

“You must! It is absolutely necessary I have a 
word with you !” The tone of the hostess is strangely 
imperative. 

As the two ladies are going down the stairway. Von 
Tschudi,' bending over the balustrade, cries entreat- 
ingly: “Don’t keep her long, Mrs. Saxon; don’t keep 
her long!” 

As Actia glances toward him Andrus sees by the 
sudden tremor that runs through her graceful frame 
that she remembers him. The episode of the previous 
night makes her crimson. ^ 

“Oh, you can wait,” laughs Sofia. 

Von Tschudi does wait! 

He steps down into the foyer, and lingering there 
among some departing guests, keeps near to the din- 
ing room, and from it hears a low, muttered conversa- 
tion as if two women are speaking hurriedly. He 
cannot catch their words, the music of the little orches- 
tra above and the chatter in the foyer drown them. 
Miss Johnson and Miss Sedgwick are bidding the em- 
bryo bride adieu. The first says: “See you to-mor- 
row at the church. How’s your gown?” 


248 


PHIL CONWAY. 


“Oh, it’s just come from Duval and Egan’s, and it’s 
a dream,” whispers Lucia excitedly. 

The second nods her head towards the dining room 
and whispers : “Do you think she came to see if you 
were jealous of her? I don’t think she’s so very tata 
anyway.” 

“To me she seems exquisitely lovely,” answers Lucia 
enthusiastically. 

“Ah, not jealous, when your handsome fellow 
brought her back from Guatemala !” 

“If I were Mrs. Saxon I should be the jealous body,” 
babbles Miss Sedgwick. “After a muleback tropic 
journey with snakes and hammocks ” 

“Yes, a hammock is so romantic!” giggles Miss 
Johnson. 

Perchance the hammock suggestion is not altogether 
pleasing to the coming bride. Lucia’s face flushes, but 
she says sharply : “Don‘t talk nonsense, girls. I trust 
Phil implicitly.” 

“Yes, they loved each other so they always walked 
hand in hand!” observes Miss Pussy. 

“That was the only way they could trust each other !” 
laughs Miss Sedgwick. 

Then the bridesmaids, having made the coming 
bride uneasy, give her sweetly affectionate kisses and 
murmur ; “Are you going to say ‘obey’ dear ?” 

“Of course I am!” answers Lucia stoutly. “I love 
Phil.” Her face grows ardent. “I love him in the old- 
fashioned way, and I’m going to be an old-fashioned 
wife to him. And when you get a handsome caballero 
you do the same, girls. Adios!” She runs up the 
stairs with flushed and happy face despite Mrs. Saxon’s 
muleback journey with her sweetheart. 

Just here, to Von Tschudi’s quick ears, two excited 
exclamations come from the dining room, the last al- 


PHIL CONWAY. 


249 


most terrified, from Mrs. Saxon, whose voice seems 
indignant. 

A minute later Actia passes out, her steps confused, 
a kind of frightened despair upon her pale and agita- 
ted face. Fortunately the entrance is empty; there is 
no one to notice her dismay. 

Stepping quickly into the reception room on the 
lower floor, Andrus glances into the street. A footman 
is opening the door of Mrs. Saxon’s brougham for her. 
As she steps into her equipage the German can see that 
the lady’s delicately gloved hand trembles as if she had 
the ague. She drives away. Fifteen seconds after a 
coupe that had been loitering across the street, near 
the Museum of Natural History, turns and follows 
Mrs. Saxon’s carriage. Von Tschudi looks sharply 
through his blue specs and mutters : ‘'Donnerwetter, 
Bostwick! Actia is one of the means by which the 
fair Sofia will attempt to destroy this wedding. How 
I admire my magnificent opponent ! She’s waiting for 
me now!” 

A flush of triumph is on Andrus’s pasty countenance 
as he strolls into the dining room and finds Sofia lan- 
guidly sitting in an armchair. Though deep in 
thought, there is an air of quiet exultation in her brown 
eyes, her pose is provokingly coquettish; a handsome 
foot, carelessly displayed in openwork stocking and 
high-heeled slipper, adds to her allurements. 

“Ach Gott, this is for my delectation!” thinks the 
amorous Andrus and promptly seizes the white hand 
that is lazily reposing on the crepe de chine robe, mur- 
muring : ‘‘Meine Angehetete G’dttin.” 

But now astonishment smites Von Tschudi. Sofia 
mutters: ‘T am not your adored goddess!” defends 
her fingers from bis caress ; looks at him through her 
brown eyes roguishly, yet icily, and says : *T’ve been 
thinking about you, mein jiinger Mann! Do you sup- 


250 


PHIL CONWAY. 


pose Tm going to let you make love to me when I am 
about to marry another, and have your idiotic passion 
destroy an engagement that is advantageous to me? 
I am bidding you good-by. Should you call again you 
will find that I am not at home.” 

“Oh, it cannot be that you will be so cruel !” falters 
Von Tschudi, who is more astounded than he has ever 
been in his life. 

“I am!” she says resolutely; then jeers: “Your lips 
are too burning for my white skin. Leben sie ivohl! 
You know what that means. Good-by for a long 
time.” 

“But I must come to the wedding, meine GeUehter 
cries Von Tschudi, fighting for time, this last move of 
his charming hostess having absolutely dismayed him. 

“Yes, you can come to my wedding,” says the widow 
coquettishly. “Then you will be no more dangerous.” 

“Oh, but I will be, very dangerous — to youT 

“And how?” Sofia’s tone is very haughty. 

''Mein Hers, I shall be the bridegroom!” whispers 
Von Tschudi, inspired, and leaves her with astounded 
eyes and blazing face. 

Outside of Madame Morazan’s door the German dis- 
concertedly mutters to himself : "Wundervoll, Sofia 
had a surprise for me also ! Mein Himmel, what does 
my magnificent enemy propose to do with Actia 
Saxon ?” 


BOOK IV. 

The Surprises Of A Night. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THE VENGEANCE OF CIRCUMSTANCES. 

It is after eight o’clock when Von Tschudi enters 
Conway’s apartments in the “Mephisto” to find about 
the young stock operator, the echoes of a great success 
in Wall Street mingled with the preparations for to- 
morrow’s wedding. Manuel, pasting labels on a pile of 
trunks and portmanteaux in Phil’s bedroom, indicates 
his master’s nuptial departure. A young speculator, 
who is to be one of Phil’s ushers and is about going 
out, looks at the coming bridegroom and says admir- 
ingly : “By heaven, you’re a wonder, selling that mar- 
ket as if you owned the A.M. capital stock; and short 
sales, too, I guess. See you at the church to-morrow. 
Don’t make the mistake Jimmy Griffin did, who lin- 
gered at the ticker so long he kept his bride waiting at 
the altar. But I can see by your face that stocks aren’t 
in it with Miss Morazan.” 

“Not a little bit!” answers Phil, and turns to the 
financial editor of a newspaper, who, as he leaves, is 
saying: “You have nothing for us about the coming 
dividend on American Metal Common?” 

“Nothing!” answers Conway, remembering his 
promise to Actia Saxon. 


25X 


252 


PHIL CONWAY. 


“You know there is a rumor about,” remarks the 
newspaper man, “that it is to be reduced.” 

“Well, the market looks that way,” says Phil grimly. 
“The stock is offered privately at the Waldorf con- 
siderably under forty-six.” 

But the bell of the telephone breaks into this. It is 
a message from a fellow bear congratulating him upon 
his sand. After a time two or three stock brokers, who 
had been in the room chatting with him, drift out to 
the theatre, or the Waldorf, or their clubs. The tele- 
phone bell doesn’t ring so often. Mr. Conway calls 
Manuel in and commands : “At home to nobody !” 

“If any newspaper men call, Sehor?” 

“Refer them to Mr. Cole of our firm ; I think they’ll 
find him at the Waldorf.” Then he turns towards Von 
Tschudi, whom his eyes have sought several times 
while he has been engaged with others, and whispers : 
“You’re all right in that Wall Street matter. You’ll 
have a notice from my firm about the sale of that 
stocki’ 

Here they are interrupted by a gentleman of tropic 
bronze complexion who has been seated somewhat out 
of the general concourse and apparently enjoying a 
big cigar. He cries: “Thank God, they’ve all gone, 
Phil. They didn‘’t even let us have our dinner in 
peace. No manana or poco tiempo in New York.” 

“Ah, permit me, Bellinger, to introduce my friend, 
Mr. Von Tschudi,” remarks Conway. Then address- 
ing his German adherent, he says: “You’ve heard me 
speak about Charlie. Here he is in person.” 

“Yes, ready to shove Phil off into the sea of matri- 
mony,” laughs the bronzed smoker, whose evening 
dress is quite in contrast with Conway’s, being more 
adorned with jewelry than is common in New York; 
some rather startling diamonds indicating that he 
comes from a Latin country where these gems are more 


PHIL CONWAY. 


253 


in evidence among gentlemen than is usual in Man- 
hattan. “As we ran up in the steamer from Livings- 
ton I was always saying to myself : ‘I wonder if Lll 
ever get in front of the padre f There’s a dona down 
in Coban whose father has got his* eyes on me; but 
though Lolita is mighty pretty — you like Spanish 
beauties, Phil,” he grins — “I haven’t quite got over 
Mrs. Webster, you know.” 

“You still think of her?” asks his host, looking at 
his friend nervously. 

“Think of her?” answers Bellinger enthusiastically. 
“Since she left Guatemala I haven’t thought of much 
else. I was fool enough to write her from Coban a 
month ago. Caramha, I believe I’ll call upon her; 
though a poor coffee planter will make rather a humble 
bow at the door of a Fifth Avenue palace.” 

“Not so poor,” observes Conway. “That banana 
plantation you were telling me about?” 

“Yes, bananas are coming up. Perhaps I’ll get even 
on bananas for what I lost on wheat in the Chicago 
Board of Trade. But I scarcely hope to rival you. 
Judging by what the papers say about you to-night, 
you must be a kind of little financial David. Running 
up against that Goliath, Cartwright Haswell, and hit- 
ting him with your sling, sock in his American Metal 
eye,” laughs Charlie, knocking the ashes from his 
perfecto in a playful manner. 

“By-the-by, Herr Bellinger,” says Von Tschudi 
eagerly, “how long will it take to get an answer to a 
telegram to Guatemala ?” 

“Why, it might come in twenty-four hours.” 

“Yes, I have already received some this evening,” 
remarks Phil, “one from Coban !” and his face, which 
had been excited by successful speculation, grows so 
gloomy that Von Tschudi is impressed, 


254 


PHIL CONWAY. 


''Ah, telegraph department in Coban pretty rapid?’' 
suggests Andrus. 

“No, the slowest upon earth,” answers Bellinger. 
“Why, confound it, Phil, the day after you left my 
plantation, when you attempted to help poor old 
Morazan, I tried to send a cable and couldn’t get 
it off for a week; young Hererra was drunk on 
aguardiente continuously. It was about a sale of cof- 
fee, and the fellow’s chicha debauch cost me probably 
fifteen hundred dollars.” 

“And there was no other operator in Coban at that 
time who could send a telegraph message?” asks Von 
Tschudi meditatively. 

“Not one !” answers Bellinger decisively. 

At the answer Conway starts up from his chair and 
paces the room nervously. 

Noting this, Charlie says: “I see business in both 
your and Von Tschudi’s eyes. Wall Street I suppose. 
I’ll be in to see you, though, before I go down to my 
hammock in the Waldorf.” Then he asks eagerly : 
“Where’s the best ballet and the prettiest chorus girls ?” 

“Oh, don’t ask me,” laughs Conway. “A coming 
benedict is no authority on the chorus; but Von 
Tschudi knows everything.” 

“Well,” remarks the German, , anxious to get Bellin- 
ger on his way, “I’ll take you over to Mr. Bloomer’s 
apartments and introduce you to him. He knows more 
about the beauties of comic opera than the stage man- 
ager.” 

“Ah, thank you; I like to be in the swim of the 
place,” says Mr. Bellinger as he puts on his overcoat. 
“Phil drove me up this afternoon to see the coming 
Mrs. Conway, and I didn’t know New York. I haven’t 
been here for six years.” 

Three minutes afterwards Von Tschudi returning to 
Conway’s apartment, finds that gentleman waiting for 


PHIL CONWAY. 


255 

him with business in his eye. Philip steps promptly to 
his door, locks it, takes a quick glance at his telephone 
to see that the receiver is hanging up, and asks eagerly : 
“You’ve done everything I asked you?” 

“Yes,” answers Andrus, “and successfully T 

“Then, were it not for my infernal telegram from 
Coban, I’d be ready to smash Madame Morazan,” Phil 
whispers. “But this cable received from the tele- 
graph official in Salama, who seems to be more alert 
than that drunken Hererra, absolutely gives me the 
words of my message, though it states that the fugitive 
was mentioned as Diego Morazan.” Then he suddenly 
asks : “But how the deuce could a telegram have been 
sent when Hererra was dead drunk? You heard Bel- 
linger: He couldn’t get a dispatch off for a week.” 
Phil presses his hand to his forehead and announces : 
“If my telegram was sent, at that time there must have 
been another telegraph operator in Coban.” 

“Yes, I’ve thought of that,” answers Von Tschudi. 

“Oh, what a relief if my dispatch did not bring 
death to the father of my loved one!” goes on Con- 
way impetuously in broken voice. “As the marriage 
draws nearer it appals me ! When I think of it I can 
hardly look my darling in the face. I drove up there 
as soon as I could get away from my business down- 
town. Lucia was full of Mrs. Saxon’s kindness and 
compliments. That beast, Osterfeldt, was there also, 
snarling about Lucia’s having that hundred thousand. 
Said I was getting so rich selling things I didn’t have 
that I could give my wife all the money she needed. 
When I looked at my poor robbed darling I felt like 
wringing his greedy neck. But IMadame Morazan 
cooled me off by whispering she must see me to-night 
on a very important matter, but not to call before ten. 
Faugh, it was difficult to assume the tone of future son- 
in-law to the wretch, but I did it.” Phil makes a wry 


256 


PHIL CONWAY. 


face; then asks suddenly: “What pleasantry do you 
think Sofia means by that? Electric?’’ 

“I think she means by ten o’clock this evening to 
have received a letter from a freund of Guatemala;” 
jeers Von Tschudi, “informing her that you were in- 
strumental in the death of Don Diego Morazan. Then 
you will find she will sternly do a mother’s full duty 
and tell your affianced, and thus prevent your marry- 
ing Lucia.” 

“I believe you’ve hit it,” answers Phil, pausing in his 
step; he has been pacing the apartment nervously. 
“That hundred thousand compromise was but a moiety 
of what that miscreant has robbed my darling, and 
women of her greed don’t relinquish anything. Oh, 
I know all the wretch’s financial jugglery now. This 
afternoon after the Board I met, by appointment, Ar- 
turo Enrique Vannez.” 

“Yes, you told me you had seen him even last night.” 

“But that was only preliminary. Vannez is a part- 
ner in the well-known Spanish banking house of Or- 
filla & Company, 62 Cedar Street. You remember 
the address of Lucia’s business letters? Fortunately 
he knew me by reputation and was very well aware 
I was about to marry the young lady. Therefore this 
afternoon he didn’t hesitate to give me the facts in re- 
gard to Lucia Morazan. My sweetheart is two years 
older than I thought she was. Consequently, when 
writing those business letters from the Fifty-eighth 
Street flat to Arturo Enrique Vannez — her father’s 
agent and her trustee — she was of legal age to trans- 
fer any personal property that was in her possession, 
and these stocks, bonds and securities she wrote about 
from copies set by her kind teacher in commercial cor- 
respondence were all hers, for Don Diego Morazan 
had, by a deed of trust to Arturo Enrique Vannez, 
made them Lucia’s absolute property. Her devoted 


PHIL CONWAY. 


257 


father had done this, so that if captured, even under 
the torture, he could not sign away the fortune of his 
loved daughter. And yet we see’’ — here Conway’s 
voice grows hoarse with indignation — “this damned 
woman, by her writing lessons to make the heiress able 
to earn her own living, stealing from my darling the 
wealth her poor father sacrificed his life to give her. 
Of how much do you think Sofia Morazan, by her 
subtle business correspondence, has robbed Lucia?” 
he asks savagely. “Nearly one million dollars !” 

^^Ach Gott, Himmel, Domierwetter, she is a won- 
derful woman!” The German fairly writhes in ad- 
miration. 

“She is,” says Conway grimly. “The orders writ- 
ten in Dona Lucia’s copybook seemed to Mr. Van- 
nez, the banker, when he received them, very wise. 
It was right to sell stocks, bonds and securities on the 
greatly inflated market of two years ago. Vannez, 
reading her letters, thought his fair client was a mar- 
vellously astute young lady, and perfectly able to take 
care of her business interests, and so did her bidding, 
depositing, as he sold them, the moneys received from 
Dona Lucia Estrella Morazan’s securities to that young 
lady’s own account at the banks in which he was direc- 
ted to place her funds. These deposits were very 
promptly acknowledged in Lucia’s own chirography 
from copies set by her crafty tutor in business corres- 
pondence,” jeers Philip. 

“But how did Dona Sofia profit by funds placed to 
the credit of Lucia Morazan ?” queries Andrus eagerly. 

“How ?” answers the broker. “Lucia last night con- 
fided, to my questions, that her mercantile training in- 
cluded opening bank accounts, sending her signature to 
these institutions properly attested, then checking 
against them in favor of cash. Oh, you’ll find Lucia’s 
business education is very complete. By it she signed 


258 


PHIL CONWAY. 


away her fortune. Did you notice how craftily Sofia 
got the girl to acknowledge before a notary public 
the receipt in full exonerating Arturo Enrique Van- 
nez ? That was to make Vannez feel the business was 
concluded and the account ruled off, so that he might 
never by word or letter arouse Lucia’s suspicions.” 

“Yes, but how is it Vannez didn’t see the young 
lady at any time ?” questions the German. 

“That wasn’t necessary,” observes Conway. “There 
was no probate to go through in regard to these securi- 
ties. They were Lucia’s property. Her signature had 
already been forwarded from Guatemala by her father 
with his deed of trust. As soon as she arrived at legal 
age she could dispose of them. Notwithstanding this, 
Arturo Enrique Vannez did call twice to see Miss 
Morazan when first she and — faugh, I can’t call that 
woman her mother — arrived in New York, when they 
lived as well-to-do people at the Fifth Avenue Hotel. 
Each time Madame Morazan came down to Senor Van- 
nez in the public parlors and said that Dona Lucia 
was still so indisposed on account of her father’s mur- 
der that she could see no one, but that she would 
write him in regard to her securities. Soon after, from 
time to time receiving, as per promise, written instruc- 
tions with regard to these securities, and knowing that 
by this time the young lady was of age, and perceiving 
from the letters that Dona Lucia Estrella Morazan 
knew about the proper time to sell her property, Van- 
nez, full of the cares of a large bank, obeyed these writ- 
ten instructions. Depositing all moneys received to 
the credit of Dona Lucia Estrella Morazan in the 
leading New York banks, he thought no more about 
the young lady’s account after closing it and receiv- 
ing legal receipt in full for same, until he saw in the 
newspapers the notice of her approaching nuptials. 
Then it occurred to the dear old gentleman that, as 


PHIL CONWAY. 


259 


he had received large commissions from his fair client’s 
business, a handsome bracelet would be the proper 
thing to send with his well wishes to the coming bride. 
Thank God, he did send it !” 

' “And thank God, we saw it before Sofia Morazan 
got her eyes upon the gift; otherwise we wouldn’t 
have the information it has so curiously led up to!” 
cries Von Tschudi. Then he nervously questions: 
“But you haven’t told Arturo Vannez of Madame 
Morazan’s crime?” 

“No,” answers Philip. “I did not deem it wise to 
reveal the wickedness of the woman Lucia calls mother. 
Fortunately my position as the coming bridegroom 
enabled me to obtain the information to-day from 
Vannez about as I have given it to you, without any 
damaging disclosures as to Sofia. Now of course you 
perceive Sofia’s motive for the bird-cage attempt upon 
my life. When I demanded the name of Morazan’s 
rascally'agent from her in this very apartment, it made 
her desperate. Therefore she made that subtle assault 
upon my life, and had the evidence ready, if necessary, 
to put Johnny Brewster in the electric chair for it.” 

“Yes; she remembers that lineman’s remark about 
her being still juicy,” giggles Von Tschudi. “But I’ve 
got Johnny’s statement in writing, though he 
doesn’t know what it means to Madame Morazan. 
Ach Himmel, but she has as superb a mind as she 
has a beautiful body. Little Jose was to give her a 
claim to a portion of Don Diego’s money, not only 
as his widow, but as the mother of his posthumous 
child. How she blushed to-day when I said: ‘To me 
you are all Jungfrau/ She’s charming, isn’t she?” 

Conway interrupts this rhapsody by remarking 
shortly: “Charming as a fer de lance! Her methods 
of transferring my darling’s money by Lucia’s checks 
on her own bank account have been so crafty that a 


26 o 


PHIL CONWAY. 


criminal prosecution will, I fear, not lie against her. 
Of course I will have to consult a lawyer as to the 
technical nature of the fraud, though I have no doubt 
Lucia can recover by civil action.” Then he goes on 
resolutely but jeeringly: “After Lucia had trans- 
ferred, by means of those subtle writing lessons, her 
fortune to mamma’s bank account, mamma tried to 
marry the despoiled heiress to a poor mechanic. That 
would probably have destroyed any chance of investi- 
gation. But now when I’m my defrauded darling’s 
husband it will be a different matter !” 

“Yes, when you are!” murmurs the sociologist 
dreamily. Then he suddenly asks: “Was there not 
a rumor to-day that you had been busted by the rise 
of American Metal stock?” 

“Oh, I shouldn’t wonder,” answers Phil indiffer- 
ently. “There were all kinds of bull canards during 
the morning’s rise. But why do you ask ?” 

“This afternoon Madame Morazan made* a very 
adroit use of this report to get an unfortunate admis- 
sion from Mrs. Saxon.” 

“I am sorry for that,” answers Conway earnestly, 
“for that lady has done me a remarkable service. The 
first rise of the stock was so rapid and so strong it 
would have frightened anyone who did not know what 
was underneath it.” He lights a fresh cigar and con- 
tinues : “By the by, I sold your thousand shares at fifty- 
two and a half. I didn’t get the highest price; you 
told me to use my discretion; I waited till the market 
turned. It closed weak as dishwater, at forty-six and 
a quarter. Haswell’s crowd put it up, and they got 
more than they wanted of it. They don’t relish taking 
American Metal Common back; and it came out upon 
them by the ream. It wasn’t my selling put it down ; 
it was everybody’s selling — Pittsburg, Chicago, Bos- 
ton. Then when the dividend is cut to-morrow ” 


PHIL CONWAY. 


261 


“The dividend cut to-morrow! HochT This is a 
howl of joy from Von Tschudi. 

“Yes, there — there are rumors to that effect,” stam- 
mers Conway. Remembering his promise to Actia 
Saxon, he is biting his lip. 

“If that is so,” cries Andrus excitedly, “it I shall not 
buy back till it reaches nothing.” 

“That is the way I would have acted when I first 
went on the Street,” remarks Phil. “It’s not wise to 
try to squeeze the last cent out of a business proposi- 
tion. It takes nerve when you’re short by the thous- 
ands and thousands of shares, to see their price rising 
on you like a spring flood. If it hadn’t been for words 
I heard last night in this room I mightn’t have dared 
to sell that stock to a standstill, as I did to-day.” 

“Oh yes, you have a very good friend in Mrs. 
5axon,” whispers Von Tschudi. Then he adds in pro- 
phetic voice: “Will you say she is equally your good 
friend by to-morrow night?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Only that I fear this lady is the first instrument 
that astute female Machiavelli up in Seventy-seventh 
Street will use for the destruction of your com- 
ing bride’s faith in you. Oh, you don’t know the 
astuteness of that woman,” he goes on as Phil looks 
at him appalled. “She can even overcome her vanity !” 

“The devil!” 

“Yes !” 

“But how does the wretch hope to use Actia Saxon ?” 
Conway’s finger quivers, as he knocks the ashes from 
his cigar. 

As if in answer to his speech, there is a tremulous, 
frightened knocking upon his hall door. 

Manuel steps in and says : “A lady insists on seeing 
you, sir.” 

“Who ?” asks Phil in a startled voice. 


262 


PHIL CONWAY. 


‘‘The one who was here last night, sehor.” 

“Show her in!” mutters Conway, and looks as- 
tounded at the German. 

''VerUiichtj I feared another visit. Actia got away 
too easily last night,” growls Von Tschudi, and effaces 
himself, though this time he passes into the little din- 
ing room, that gives him exit into the hall. 

Phil glances at his watch. It is nine o’clock. The 
house seems unusually quiet, though there is the usual 
evening din from Fifth Avenue, as Mrs. Saxon, heavily 
veiled and wrapped in a long dark cloak, glides into the 
room. 

Before he can offer her a chair, she collapses upon a 
sofa trembling and hiding her face in her hands. 

“You’re mad to come here I” he whispers. 

“Yes, I was mad to come here last night. I was 
mad to send you those anonymous letters. I know 
that now — God help me I” This is sighed out piteously. 
Then suddenly a nervous shock seems to electrify the 
lady; she rises, stands before him, with frenzied, ap- 
pealing eyes, and falters in desperate voice : “But, Mr. 
Conway, you must in some way protect me!” 

“From — from what?” stammers Phil. Actia’s ex- 
clamations have been so low, fluttering and abrupt that 
he has had no time to think. 

“From absolute and utter ruin, brought about by 
your careless confidence in permitting Madame Mora- 
zan to get possession of those anonymous letters I 
sent you about American Metal stock.” There is a 
tinge of reproach in the agonized voice. 

“Impossible!” ejaculates Phil contritely; he can see, 
though they are blazing now, that the beautiful eyes 
have shed many tears. 

“She has them; she showed them to me!” gasps 
Actia. “She craftily tricked me into an expression 
that disclosed to her that I had had conference with you 


PHIL CONWAY. 


263 


as well last night. Then privately she demanded, as 
Lucia’s mother, that I reveal to your coming bride 
what I know of your connection with the death of 
Diego Morazan.” 

Conway glances at the telephone on his table and 
gives a shudder. 

“When I refused,” whispers the trembling woman, 
“she dared to threaten me with proof of my 
treachery to my uncle — the letters to be placed in 
Cartwright Haswell’s hand, and the evidence of de- 
tectives who had followed me here to your rooms. 
Oh, you know what that means! I shall be a social 
outcast in New York; perhaps even penniless, for I am 
dependent on my uncle ; and worse than all^ I shall lose 
the love and respect of a man who has been like a 
father to me. Oh, he’ll never forgive me !” she moans. 
“He was too bitter about you to-day. He doesn’t like 
to be beaten. Of course the money amounts to little 
to him ; but it’s his pride. You humbled that when your 
brokers flooded the market with that stock and sold it 
down in spite of him. For that he’ll never forgive 
you — nor me neither, if he knows.” 

“It wasn’t I alone who broke the market. I would 
be but a feather against the financial strength of Cart- 
wright Haswell,” says Phil modestly. “It was the 
speculative world that knocked the stilts from under 
American Metal. Besides, Cartwright Haswell did not 
want to buy that stock!” 

“Yes, but my uncle attributes it to you and hates you 
for it,” sighs Actia Saxon; then shudders; “And to- 
morrow he’ll hate me for it. Oh, how I suffered as 
I sat at dinner with him to-night and thought how he 
would despise me when that merciless creature proved 
me ingrate. I’m a ruined woman, if you don’t pro- 
tect me, Phil.” 

Her words voice a truth that has already made Con- 


264 


PHIL CONWAY. 


way turn pale. He knows the catastrophe threatened 
by Madame Morazan means the loss of those friends 
who had still remained faithful to Roderick Saxon’s 
widow, as well as any hope of Cartwright Haswell’s 
fortune or forgiveness. Protect her ! How ? 

Her drooping pose, the bashful glances of the lady’s 
anguished eyes, answer him. Actia Saxon is standing 
before Philip Conway as Cleopatra before Caesar. The 
long, heavy cloak in which she had been wrapped has 
fallen from her shining shoulders to the floor, the laces 
and gauzes of her black evening dress, contrasting with 
the whiteness of her rounded arms and chiseled bust 
and shoulders, float about her ethereal figure, and she 
looks like a lost Peri at the gates of Paradise. As 
she stands before him he knows she is offering herself 
to him. 

Were there no Lucia Morazan, perhaps from 
very gratitude he would marry this woman who has 
risked so much for him. Doubtless this is in Actia’s 
mind also. She has forgotten the lovely bride who 
awaits the gentleman on the morrow. With frenzied 
fingers she has seized his hand and is pleading: ^T 
deserve protection from you. I have risked everything 
for you. I have lost everything for you !” 

Had Philip Conway been heart-free, doubtless she 
would have been a temptation to him in her beauty 
and her appeal ; weakness in woman always stimulates 
the chivalry in a strong man. ‘‘Believe me, Mrs. 
Saxon,” he says gratefully, “I appreciate your risk in 
my behalf.” Then his tone grows resolute. “I will 
both protect you and protect myself!” 

“How?” Her white hands are extended entreat- 
ingly towards him as if she waited for his kisses. He 
has but to open his arms and the beautiful creature 
before him will enter them, and give him unbounded 
love and eternal gratitude and devotion. 


PHIL CONWAY. 265 

But Philip Conway loves Lucia Morazan too truly 
to think of any other woman. 

“How?” she whispers and conies near him, her 
form quivering for the ecstasy of the first embrace. 

“How?” answers Phil hoarsely. “By smashing 
Madame Morazan !” 

Before she can stay him, with that quick intuition 
that has made him a successful stock operator, he calls 
up on the telephone the number of the Seventy-seventh 
Street house. Actia is frenziedly about to speak, but 
he motions her to silence. The call being answered, he 
immediately says : “Ask Miss Lucia to step to the 
’phone a moment.” 

But the answer in Marigold, the parlor maid’s, tones 
dismays him. She replies : “I recognize your voice, 
Mr. Conway. Miss Lucia and her mother left here 
five minutes ago. From what they said, they are driv- 
ing down to your apartment to see you.” 

With a dismal face, Phil closes his ’phone. Sofia 
has stolen the initiative from him. Mrs. Saxon is 
gliding to the door; but he places a detaining hand 
upon her arm and says : “Wait !” 

“Wait? When you are telephoning for your affi- 
anced?” she shudders. “Wait? So that I can see 
your happiness and No, no!” Tears blind her 
beaming eyes, but she still gropes falteringly towards 
the entrance. “As you are a gentleman, let me pass !” 

“As I’m your friend, I will not. If you leave here 
now, Madame Morazan’s agents below will have such 
evidence to prove your visits here that denial to your 
uncle will be useless. You will be naked to that re- 
morseless woman. Even now she is coming here, 
bringing Lucia with her, for your and my undoing.” 

“Then let me go!” 

“No, for that means your end to-morrow with your 
uncle — with the world; that means putting me in the 


266 


PHIL CONWAY. 


position of a man who accepts a woman’s devotion, per- 
mits her to ruin herself for him, and then deserts her. 
That shall not be said of Philip Conway!” 

“My God, you mean it I” Passion kills the pride of 
Actia Saxon ; she is trying to get her arms about him ; 
she is thanking him, blessing him, and calling him her 
own. Careless of her attitude, for she regards her- 
self as Conway’s now, she is half kneeling upon an 
ottoman, offering her lips for his caress; her snowy 
shoulders and panting bosom are gleaming beneath the 
electric lights ; her rounded arms are held up towards 
him; a perfect foot and ankle, dazzlingly shod, have 
escaped from clinging draperies. 

Into this scene Von Tschudi comes hurriedly, enter- 
ing by the little dining room door, and stands aghast, 
Actia’s beauty in her short-lived joy is so great he 
fears Phil has succumbed. 

But to Conway there is only one woman in the 
world — his coming bride. He says hoarsely: “This 
unhappy lady’s secret must die here in this room with 
you and me. Von Tschudi. Tell it and I kill you!” 

Phil’s voice and attitude show the entreating woman 
that his protection does not mean his love. “Ah, I 
have lost your esteem,” she shudders. 

“No,” answers Conway gratefully, “for I am about 
to risk for your good name the happiness of my whole 
life — that is the love of Lucia Morazan.” 

With a plaintive, helpless sigh, Actia sinks upon a 
chair, and Phil draws Von Tschudi into the hallway. 
The German speaks hurriedly : “We must act quickly. 
They have seen her enter your rooms.” 

“I know that,” is Conway’s answer. “Bostwick 
must have ’phoned Madame Morazan; she is on her 
way here, bringing Lucia. She either hopes to force 
Mrs. Saxon to reveal to Lucia my telegram from Co- 
ban or else arouse, through that lady, such jealousy 


PHIL CONWAY. 


267 


in my darling that she will destroy her happiness and 
my own. Had the devil struck first and threatened 
afterwards I had been branded as Actia’s lover before 
the world and helpless. I wonder why she didn’t at 
once expose Mrs. Saxon to her uncle?” 

“Because Sofia’s speculating in American Metal 
stock and wants more inside tips from Cartwright Has- 
well’s niece,’’ grins the German. “She has a hold on 
her by which she thinks she can make the lady reveal 
the secrets of her uncle.” 

“By that Sofia has given me one chance,” sa^s Con- 
way resolutely, “and I will take it!” Then he asks sig- 
nificantly: “You have the evidence as I directed?” 

“Every bit of it !” answers Andrus stufdily. 

“By it we can close her lips I” 

“But not until Sofia has opened them sufficiently for 
Lucia to hear wliat will forever separate you and her,” 
dissents the German. “You may put Sofia in the 
State’s prison, but that will not give you Lucia Mora- 
zan if she thinks you her father’s murderer. Oh, per- 
mit me to make compromise!” There is a wistful 
eagerness in Von Tschudi’s voice. 

“Never!” answers Phil in acute determination. 
“That devil would then hold that telegram over my 
happiness and Lucia’s as man and wife! Ah, God, how 
that hangs over me!” 

“If I could obliterate that for you forever — what re- 
ward ?” 

“Anything you ask !” 

“Then give me Madame Morazan, her safety from 
arrest, her punishment in my hands!” Andrus’s eyes 
glow. 

Phil looks'at him sharply a moment; then he says 
simply : “Yes ! — after I have protected Actia Saxon 
you shall have the handling of Madame Morazan.” 

Yon Tschudi’s hand clasps Philip’s in a floppy 


268 


PHIL CONWAY. 


squeeze; he rolls his eyes in great and triumphant 
hope. He knows a stock broker’s word is a stock 
broker’s bond. 

“Now,” says Andrus confidently, “just wait here 
outside a moment while I run to my rooms for certain 
little things. We must be ready for Sofia. Don’t re- 
turn to Mrs. Saxon; no words of sympathy for her 
if you love Lucia Morazan!” 

Conway knows his subtle advice is correct, and 
stands waiting. In scarce two minutes the German re- 
turns, bearing in his hand the dead parrot’s cage, half 
destroyed by electrical current, and a sealed package. 

“What the devil do you mean to do with that?” 
asks Conway with a start. 

“Ah, that is my method. I know criminals better 
than you!” 

‘^All right,” says Phil promptly, after a few words 
of consultation, “I’ll meet Madame Morazan as she 
steps from her carriage and take the initiative despite 
her!” 

“Ah, were you not so great a stock operator you 
should have been a criminologist,” murmurs the ad- 
miring German, as Conway walks down the stairs and 
takes his post at the porte-cochcre of the “Mephisto.” 

Then Von Tschudi gives a few quick orders to 
Manuel, gets a bell-boy and sends him off with a dis- 
trict telegraph message, chuckling to himself : “I touch 
the button with Conway’s Midas hand, and presto ! like 
Aladdin’s ring, a fete !” 

With this reflection in his mind the German enters 
Phil’s parlor to see Actia Saxon in such attitude of 
grief that unless he shocks her into sentient action his 
plans will come to naught. 

He promptly walks to her and asks : “Do you want 
to be thought Phil Conway’s despairing mistress, by 
his coming wife?” 


PHIL CONWAY. 269 

“My God, no!” the lady starts up with a cry of 
horror. 

“Then don’t look like it; unless you are willing to 
risk the loss of your uncle’s love and esteem and be- 
come a pariah ” 

“Oh, how dare you I” The tortured eyes are blazing. 

“That is what it means, madame, if this affair turns 
out badly for you to-night. But Mr. Conway has re- 
solved to protect you. Only, to protect you, you must 
protect yourself. Forgive me, I did not mean to shock 
you, honored lady,” he murmurs, “but I have only a 
few moments to speak to you very plainly.” 

“But if I will not listen to you ? My Heaven, they’re 
making a fete of my despair !” moans Actia, for from 
the little dining room comes the noise of waiters bring- 
ing in a feast. “Do you think,” she says desperately, 
“I’ll stay here and see the man I love making a festival 
with the woman of his heart ? Don’t demand from me 
that torture. It is too bitter.” 

She is gliding towards the door, but Von Tschudi 
stands before her. “You must!” he whispers. “For 
should, by any accident, Phil Conway be unable to 
crush her to-night, from this time on, you are the serf 
of Madame Morazan. You would be forever threat- 
ened with revelation to your uncle. I heard her slave- 
driving tones to you to-day.” 

She doesn’t answer him but her eyes fill with tears. 

“Do a generous deed nobly,” he continues. “You 
were brave enough in giving Phil a fortune ; have forti- 
tude not to destroy his happiness because you did it.” 

“Yes, yes. I’ll fight my passion down ! I know he’s 
lost to me. No one shall see my love for Philip Con- 
way,” half sobs Actia, though her voice is very low, 
for now Manuel is at the door of the little dining room. 
Discreetly he does not enter, but Von Tschudi takes 
from his hands flowers and bouquets and decks the 


270 


PHIL CONWAY. 


room as if a festival had been planned to honor the 
guest of Philip Conway. 

As if to keep the unfortunate lady’s mind occupied, 
he places the parrot’s cage on a stand somewhat away 
from the center of the room, partly screening it by 
a couple of palms outside of the range of general 
vision. As she gazes at him with astonished eyes, he 
opens a packet, and taking from it a piece of No. 12 
insulated copper wire, hangs by it from an electric 
bracket the cage of the dead Chico. 

“What is the meaning of that?” asks Actia 
astounded. 

“It is my method for your protection, honored 
madame,” murmurs Von Tschudi. Then he turns to 
her and suddenly queries : “These facts I must know. 
Answer me as you love your honor before the world. 
Did you inspire those anonymous articles in the news- 
papers, stating that Philip Conway’s affianced was 
about to break off her marriage with him on account of 
her father’s death ? Ah, your attitude tells me !” 

For Mrs. Saxon is standing proudly erect. “How 
dare you ask me such a thing?” she whispers, and the 
haughty indignation of her glance convinces him. 

“Another thing, only one more. Did you tell 
Madame Morazan of the telegram from Coban — I 
mean the one Conway unfortunately sent to save your ’ 
husband, but which gave death to Lucia’s father?” 

“No, no. Am I a demon?” she gasps. “I only 
hoped when I read those articles Phil would remember 
that he couldn’t wed this girl, that’s all.” 

^‘Mein Himmel, then I’m afraid we’ve lost !” groans - 
Von Tschudi, “and as the battle is going to be very 
desperate, I may be compelled to announce you as the 
betrothed of Charlie Bellinger, who is coming here 
to-night.” 

The effect of this is awful. For a second this un- 


PHIL CONWAY. 


271 


happy lady who has come hoping to gain the love of 
One man and "who now hears she is to be promised 
to another, grows unnaturally pallid ; then with a sud- 
den surge all the blood in her body seems to fly into 
her face, neck and shoulders and they are crimson ; one 
white hand clutches her heart, that is bounding and 
throbbing as if it would break through the laces and 
gauzfes of her corsage. She stammers and stutters 
and finally gasps : “Does Mr. Bellinger know of this 
cruel thing?” 

“Not a bit! Mr. Bellinger is not only a gentleman, 
but has more than respect for you.” 

“Ah, it is always the bitter pill, for my lips!” she 
sobs. 

“Yes, it is the vengeance of circumstances,” observes 
Von Tschudi. “Besides there’ll be other bitter pills 
swallowed to-night. I may take medicine myself ! Yoit 
can repudiate the contract at your leisure if it pleases 
you. Women can always find excuse for that. But 
for to-night you must be the betrothed of Charlie Bel- 
linger. Oh, it’s not such an awful thing,” he grins. 
“A fine, handsome fellow, devoted to the memory of 
Mrs. Webster.” She shudders at her fugitive cogno- 
men. “It is better to be Charlie’s darling than Sofia’s 
slave. Remember that ! Mein Gott, I hear the ladies 
on the stairs. A straight face now ! No twitching of 
that little foot !” 

For Conway, striding into the room, says gloomily : 
“Bostwick met Madame Morazan at the Fifth Avenue 
corner, so I thought it best not to speak to her!” To 
Von Tschudi’s astonishment, Phil springs to the tele- 
phone, seats himself and opens it, but does not call 
the Central office. 

The next instant, Manuel, instructed, shows in the 
ladies. Sofia is apparently anxious to enter, but Lucia, 
in her eagerness as coming bride, flits into the apart- 


272 


PHIL CONWAY. 


ment first, crying enthusiastically: “Phil, those dia- 
monds that came this evening are as magnificent as 
your love!” then gives a smothered, startled cry and 
gazes with astounded expression and in horrified pose 
on Actia Saxon. 

Madame Morazan, with a great look of scandalized 
morality on her handsome face, is about to open her 
lips in the role of questioning mother ; but pauses as the 
words that Conway is rapidly speaking into the ’phone 
smite her : “That’s all right, Vannez. We can attach 
her property to-morrow before the banks are open. I 
know where she’s got every dollar of it. Two hundred 
thousand in the Park and Chemical Banks, over three 
hundred thousand in the Cjty Bank, and fifteen hun- 
dred thousand more in the United States Trust Com^ 
pany in securities and bonds. Meet you at 62 Cedar 
Street in the morning early. The Sheriff’s got the 
papers now.” 

With a muttered: “Vannez!” Sofia’s legs shake 
under her and she sinks supinely upon a sofa. 

Von Tschudi, with a mental ''Allmdchtiger Gott, 
Vannez ! That was carrying the war into Africa. The 
twist of genius !” lets his gaze rest upon the half-dazed 
Sofia. His eyes roll as he reflects : “Over two million 
dollars in the banks and trust companies !” 

But this is scarce noticed by Lucia Morazan, whose 
eyes have never left the beautiful figure of Mrs. 
Saxon. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


VON TSCHUDI INSURES HIS LIFE. 

But Madame Morazan is too astute to let Conway 
switch her off on the affair, Vannez ; the mention of his 
name only stimulates her to desperate and more rapid 
action. She knows now the marriage must be broken 
off instantly, so that this man can have no authority 
to speak as Lucia’s prospective husband. 

Having uncloaked in the hall, Lucia’s and Sofia’s 
light evening robes give to the flower-decked room the 
appearance of a fete, and the ladies, gazing on one an- 
other, would make a pretty picture were not their faces 
contorted by great and varying passions. Lucia, in 
virgin white, on entering, with the eager happiness of 
coming bride, had been about to offer her lips to her 
future husband ; but now her features have grown 
strangely pallid and there is a wistful, entreating ques- 
tioning in her blue eyes. 

Fortunately for Sofia, his betrothed’s ears have 
brought her no understanding of Phil’s telephone re- 
marks; she has been so dazed with dismay at Actia’s 
presence and Actia’s awful blushes, which are still 
sufficiently vivid under Von Tschudi’s announcement 
that she is to be betrothed to the coming Bellinger, to 
give the lady a distrait and wild, perhaps even guilty, 
appearance. 

As for the astute German, in his brain is surging: 
'‘Over two million dollars in stocks, securities and 
moneys!” And his eyes are fastened longingly on 
their handsome possessor like a serpent’s on its prey, 
for Madame Morazan, looking statuesque as Juno, is 


273 


274 


PHIL CONWAV. 


preparing to launch her scornful thunderbolts on the 
unfortunate Psyche, Mrs. Saxon. 

But before Sofia can speak, Lucia’s words come in 
awful questioning, almost breathlessly, from pallid 
lips : “Phil, this lady — here — to-night ?” 

“Yes, dear one; I called you on the telephone fifteen 
minutes ago,” says Conway promptly. “Marigold an- 
swered you had already left your house. It was to 
ask you to come here and help me thank Mrs. Saxon, 
who has, by her information on to-day’s stock market, 
saved my fortune and left me rich enough to marry 
you to-morrow. Unfortunately her uncle’s hostility to 
me compelled me to make this little fete quite private ; 
but her service to me — to you — has been so immeasure- 
able that I thought it wise you should know the ob- 
ligation under which it places me.” 

“So great an obligation ! so great a service !” sneers 
Sofia, turning the withering glance of the immaculate 
on Actia, who has come slowly forward and with some 
formal words is offering her hand to Phil’s affianced, 
“that I, as your mother, Lucia, shall take you from this 
woman’s presence and annul your proposed marriage 
with Mr. Conway. Come with me, my child !” 

The effect of years of trusting love on the girl’s 
side and authority upon the woman’s, just for one 
instant shows itself. Lucia falters: “Mamma, you 
cannot mean it !” Then turning towards her affianced, 
she pleads in frantic voice: “Oh, Phil, Phil, it cannot 
be! I can’t believe!” 

The loving anguish on her innocent face tells Con- 
way his sweetheart must be reckoned with as woman — 
not as child, and that her reason must be satisfied. He 
promptly seizes his betrothed’s hand that has been 
stretched pleadingly towards him, and his clasp thrills 
the girl and fights his battle for him, for she adores 
him. To her he says simply : “My darling, you heard 


PHIL CONWAY. 275 

me accused before and did not believe. You remem- 
ber the words of Johnny Brewster when he insinuated 
I had for my mistress- ” 

“My mother! Of course I could not believe that!” 
cries Lucia. “I love her. I trust her !” 

“Then love me and trust this lady also!” Phil says 
tenderly and points to Mrs. Saxon, who stands like 
an outraged goddess, returning Sofia’s haughty 
glances. 

“Wretch^ let go my daughter’s hand instantly !” com- 
mands Madame Morazan in triumph. “You see her 
love and trust in me. Say you to this man, my child, 
T repudiate you! You are unworthy of my love and 
faith. That woman proves it !’ ” 

But the words are too bitter for Lucia’s lips. Con- 
way’s betrothed says, pallid as death and trembling in 
every limb : “This has gone too far for any one to enter 
this affair save you and me, Phil. I cannot believe 
that, with my promise to meet you at the altar and 
become to-morro\y” — she wrings her hands slightly — 
“your loving, your trusting wife, you could, by word 
or deed, be faithless to me any more than if you were 
already my husband.” 

“And if I did,” answers Conway earnestly, “I would 
not be worthy to be your husband !” and he would take 
Lucia in his arms and fight his battle with men’s best 
weapon against women who love them — kisses. 

But Sofia breaks in sharply : “Absurd ! Preposterous ! 
This woman here in your rooms alone to-night ! Don’t 
listen to his perjured words! Come with me, my 
child!” 

“Not without good cause, mamma !” answers the girl 
determinedly. 

“Good cause enough — your happiness !” 

“He is my happiness!” and his betrothed turns 


276 PHIL CONWAY. 

beaming eyes on Phil that smite him, for they are 
suffused with tears. 

“And her happiness also!” scoffs Madame Morazan, 
pointing "at Mrs. Saxon. ''Ach du lieber Gott, my 
poor darling, when I think from what I’ve saved you 1 
Come with me, your mother !” 

“Mother” is an apt word to conjure with; the girl 
begins to sigh and tremble. But when Sofia would 
seize his sweetheart by the hand to lead her from the 
room, Phil, stepping between them, says : “You are 
right, Lucia, it is betwixt you and me ; and I must, not 
for your love — for I know, God bless you, I have that 
— but for your happiness and trust, explain this lady’s 
presence here.” 

“Yes, yes, I cannot believe you are untrue to me, 
Phil,” she sobs ; then cries wildly : “And yet, Dios mio, 
what motive is strong enough for this lady to risk her 
good repute and her doting uncle’s favor except for 

her ” The Spanish blood has risen in the girl’s 

cheeks, she is no longer pale, and her eyes flash like 
blue diamonds. She strides to her affianced, looks 
him in the face and says hoarsely: “Answer me, Phil 
Conway 1” 

Confronted with despair, just for a moment Phil 
hesitates. 

Gazing on him, Andrus moans to himself : “Is this 
gladiator of the Stock Board going to lose his nerve 
in the presence of his jealous sweetheart?” 

“Answer me I” says the girl excitedly. “What pas- 
sion would make her dare to risk so much for you — 
save love?” She turns her eyes on Actia Saxon and 
the blood rushes into her cheeks in angry waves. 

Suddenly Von Tschudi gives a gasp of delight. 

“How about gratitude?” says Phil in offhand tone. 
“Have women only one passion in their dear little 
hearts ?” 


PHIL CONWAY. ^77 

“Gratitude?” This is a cry of amazement from 
Lucia; a scoff from Sofia. 

“Yes, gratitude!” echoes Mrs. Saxon, getting her 
senses together in her extremity. Catching Conway’s 
drift and struggling for her good name, she pleads : 
“Miss' Morazan, I beg you listen to me! This very 
modest gentleman you love, and who loves you” — 
the words seem to contort her lips — “rescued me from 
worse than death, risking his life to do it. Were he 
not too generous to tell you of the obligation he has 
placed upon another woman, the scar of the machete 
that, striking for the heart you love, slashed only his 
left arm, will show how he battled with and slew the 
ranchero to save me from outrage in the moonlight 
of the tropic swamp.” 

“As he risked his life for my poor father !” whispers 
Lucia, “^y de mi, I see him now, on the deck of the 
steamer, standing in front of the guns levelled at the 
heart I loved!” Then chivalry appealing to her as 
it does, thank God, to most tender women, she turns 
admiring eyes upon her sweetheart and murmurs : 
“And you said nothing about it ?” 

“Oh, it was no more than any other man would 
have done,” mutters Phil, biting his mustache. 

'‘Wtinderlich, they are turning the tables on Madame 
Morazan!” grins Von Tschudi mentally. “Oh, there’s 
nothing that makes girls like a man so much as killing. 
And two million dollars in securities !” His eyes gloat 
upon Madame Morazan. 

But Madame Morazan is not so easily crushed. She 
sneers: “Gratitude! Yes, because he loved this woman 
so well, he sent from Coban a telegram to save her 
fugitive husband, and by that telegram, Lucia, he 
killed ” 

But at this moment a rattle of metal startles her. 
She sees the parrot’s cage, half fused by electricity, 


278 


PHIL CONWAY. 


dangling from an insulated copper wire. Behind it is 
the menacing face of Von Tschudi, gazing upon her 
with a strange, baneful, threatening smile. Her brain 
grows distracted with a sudden fear; her eyes cannot 
leave dead Chico’s cage. » 

While she stands for a moment stricken, love wins 
the battle from her. Lucia has caught Phil’s arm 
and is kissing the scar that reaches nearly to his wrist, 
and is saying: “Oh, brave heart that risked so much!” 

“For another^ shrieks Sofia, regaining her senses. 
“Come away, child, they’re making a fool of your inno- 
cent heart ! I’ve something to tell you that will make 
you shudder when you look upon this man you are 
caressing !” 

“But not because of my unfaith to her!” says Phil 
in ardent confidence. “Lucia, do you think I could 
put my lips to yours and be untrue?” 

He does so with such effect that his betrothed mur- 
murs : “Never ! Why, mamma, his kiss has love in it 
as much.as any man’s could have I” 

“Pish ! you’ve not been kissed much or you would 
not believe so easily. Mrs. Saxon has had more ex- 
perience in men’s caresses !” sneers Madame Morazan. 

“Only as the widow of one gentleman, I believe, and 
the betrothed of another,” remarks Von Tschudi 
suavely, entering the conversation. 

“The betrothed of another?” This is a cry from 
them all. 

“She is Mr. Bellinger’s fiancee, who will be here 
quite shortly to make up the party.” 

“Mr. Bellinger’s fiancee gasps Lucia. 

“You mean to tell me you are betrothed to Charlie 
Bellinger?” This question is sent direct to Mrs. Saxon 
as Sofia stands doubtingly before her. 

Compelled to answer or betray her secret and de- 
stroy her fair name, Actia grows red to the roots of 


PHIL CONWAY. 


279 

her hair, hangs her head as if ashamed, and murmurs 
faintly : “Y-e-s.’’ 

“Santos, her blushes tell us that, mamma!” cries 
Lucia. As in truth they may. For under this an- 
nouncement Mrs. Saxon’s embarrassed confusion is so 
conspicuous that anyone would, know she adored the 
coffee planter. 

“Quite shortly to be wedded to him.” Andruses 
voice is softly insinuating. “Mr. Bellinger will be here 
within a very few minutes; but this fete to Mr. Bel- 
linger’s betrothed had to be extremely private, because 
Cartwright Haswell, Mrs. Saxon’s uncle, must never 
know that she has done your coming husband, Miss 
Morazan, such extreme service in to-day’s financial 
battle.” 

On this Conway looks curiously at Andrus, but 
wisely says nothing; Miss Lucia is excitedly doing 
the talking. 

“Mr. Bellinger’s affianced! Oh, why did you not 
say so before, Actia ? Then I could not have doubted !” 
she babbles. “Why, mother, Phil could not be untrue 
to everybody! False to the friend who to-morrow 
stands with him at the altar to see him make me his 
bride, by intrigue with his sweetheart ? Absurd ! Un- 
true to me also ? No, no ; ’tis impossible ! Phil, for- 
give me for an instant’s suspicion!” Her arms go 
round the man she loves, and, as she places her kiss 
upon Phil Conway’s eager lips, she throws away all 
doubt of Actia Saxon. 

But this makes Sofia desperate. She jeers: “Idiot! 
They are tricking you. Come away and I’ll tell you — 
or better still, if you will have it, Philip Conway” — her 
voice becomes low and threatening — “I’ll tell her here, 
if you dare listen! This letter came to me to-night, 
signed 'A Friend of Guatemala’ ” 


28 o 


PHIL CONWAY. 


“I forbid you to speak of that to my affianced !” com- 
mands Phil hoarsely. 

“But I will !” Madame Morazan is producing from 
her bosom a letter. “It would be a crime against hu- 
manity if I, having such information in my hands, am 
silent. Besides the proof is here. Best do my mother’s 
duty by this child at once and thoroughly!” asserts 
Sofia in maternal tones. 

“What duty ?” Lucia’s eyes have terror in them ; the 
attitude of her lover tells her she has cause to dread. 

“My duty to your father’s memory!” says Madame 
Morazan in the voice of one bereft. 

“My father’s memory !” Lucia makes the sign of the 
cross reverently and her lips murmur loving petition 
to the Virgin. 

Sofia takes from the envelope two papers. “This 
cable from Salama,” she says confidently, “states a 
telegram was sent to the commanding officer of that 
garrison telling him to search the New Orleans steamer 
for your- father, Lucia. It was enclosed to me in the 
letter of ‘A Friend of Guatemala.’ ” 

“The telegram which gave my poor father unto 
death !” whispers Lucia. Suddenly her eyes grow 
lurid, Spanish^ intense. 

Phil gives a frightened gasp. 

“Ah, you remember the telegram, Senor Conway!” 
Sofia says triumphantly. “Lucia, on the night that I 
was widowed and you were orphaned on the deck of 
that New Orleans steamer, you heard that a telegram 
had been sent which brought Gurmanito and his mur- 
derous troops to search that ship ?” 

“I did, mother!” answers the girl hoarsely, a flash 
of fury illuminating her beautiful face. 

“Now I have but to call Mr. Bostwick in. He’s in 
that hall now. You remember him, he was the de- 
tective who pursued your father, thinking him this 


I>HIL CONWAY. 


281 


lady’s husband, the thief Saxon. Bostwick was present 
at your father’s murder!” 

''Diablo! was it he who sent that accursed tele- 
gram?” cries Lucia impetuously. “If it was this mis- 
erable thief-taker who betrayed ” and the passionate 

vengeance on her face appals those looking at her. 

She is striding toward the door, but Phil, catching 
her by the waist, says sternly : “Remember, darling, 
what you promised me I” and puts his arm about her 
as if to shield his beloved from her own passions. 

“Not with the assassin of my father within my 
reach!” she cries, trying to escape his grasp; then, 
feeling the arms she loves about her, devotion to the 
living overcomes devotion to the dead; her eyes fill 
with tears ; she falters piteously : “Don’t let her tell me, 
don’t let her put murder in my heart ! For if I knew, 
you would have no bride to-morrow, unless you mar- 
ried her in a prison cell. Phil, save me from myself! 
I promised at the altar for your sake to bury my dead 
father’s wrongs.” 

“Then, dear one, keep that vow to-night !” says Con- 
way very tenderly, but looks broken-hearted, for his 
sweetheart’s attitude tells him that if Sofia makes reve- 
lation he will lose his bride. 

Noting this, Madame Morazan goes on implacably, a 
horrid triumph in her voice : “But I must do my duty. 
It would be a crime against this child were I silent now. 
I speak as her mother. This letter states a telegram 
sent from Coban — oh, don’t attempt to deny it, Philip 
Conway !” she commands excitedly. “I know the form 
of official telegrams in Guatemala. Was I not chief 
dispatcher in its capital city? Was I not in Coban 
almost at the time the devilish telegram was sent ?” 

Then she pauses astounded, for Conway has given 
a mighty sigh as if the earth had suddenly been lifted 


282 


PHIL CONWAY. 


from his shoulders, and Von Tschudi is laughing : ‘‘In 
Coban at the time !” 

“And Hererra drunk, and she the boss telegrapher 
in Guatemala!” cries Phil. 

“My God, what do you mean?” A sudden dread is 
in Sofia’s voice. 

“What do I mean? By heaven, can’t you see, dear 
old mother-in-law, I am thanking you for making me 
the happiest man alive I” laughs Conway, as he mock- 
ingly pats Sofia’s marble shoulders, for Madame Mora- 
zan has become a statue. 

“Oh Phil, you call her mother! Thank God the 
trouble is over between you !” cries Lucia radiantly. 

His betrothed’s words tell the Wall Street man that 
Lucia, who calls this woman miOther, must not know — 
at least not for the present. He says rapidly : “Step into 
the dining room, dear one. Mrs. Saxon will, I am sure, 
go with you and tell you, if you wish, the details of 
the service I was fortunate enough to render her, while 
I explain to Madame Morazan and take away her last 
doubt on a subject that seems to oppress her.” 

“Yes, but Phil, that telegram — I do not understand !” 

“You do not wish to know the murderer of your 
father?” he asks, grimly gazing at Sofia. For a mo- 
ment the girl clenches her hands, her face grows 
frenzied, savage, Castilian. “Remember,” entreats her 
coming husband, “your promise to me, dear one.” 

At these words, his affianced’s face becomes again 
that of a coming bride. She says : “For your sake, mi 
adoracion, even — oblivion of my father’s assassins.” 

Her looks indicate Lucia expects a kiss. She gets 
one with her lover’s whole soul. 

So, with happy face, she passes into the little dining 
room with Mrs. Saxon, saying: “Now, Actia, friend 
of my future husband, and therefore my friend too, tell 


PHIL CONWAY. 283 

me things to make me proud that to-morrow I am to 

be Mrs. Conway.” 

To this Sofia has made no dissent; the confident 
manner of both the men has dismayed her. 

So Phil, Von Tschudi and Madame Morazan are 
alone together, and the words of the two gentlemen 
horrify the beautiful intrigante. 

“We struck the idea at the same instant!” laughs 
Phil. 

“Yes, great criminologist I” says Andrus clasping 
his hand in admiration. “But just at this moment the 
important consideration is whether you, Herr Conway, 
should tell Lucia such things as will make your coming 
bride wish to take a knife into her hands and butcher 
this woman.” 

“You mean butcher that man 1” says Sofia, pointing 
to Philip, “for he is her father’s murderer ! Don’t dare 
to interrupt me. I have a letter here from ‘A Friend of 
Guatemala.’ ” 

“You mean ‘A Freund of Guatemala!’” jeers An- 
drus. 

But the woman, unheeding him goes on : “It arrived 
this evening, and told me that you sent that telegram 
which brought death to Don Diego Morazan. And yet, 
you dared to wed my child !” 

“Your child, you robber!” says Conway savagely. 
“Oh, I know now the subtle art of Lucia’s business let- 
ters ! I’ve seen Arturo Enrique Vannez and am aware 
of your commercial crimes !” 

“I had presumed you knew that,” observes Sofia 
sarcastically, “from your telephone remarks to frighten 
me. But that will not make you the husband of 
Lucia to-morrow !” Pier tone is confidently vindictive. 
“I’ll break your heart before you touch my pocket ! 
You dare not explain to Lucia that telegram from 
Coban !” 


284 


PHIL CONWAY. 


“Pish, that telegram could not have been sent — there 
was no telegraph operator in Coban !” returns Con- 
way carelessly. 

“It was sent !” asserts Sofia. 

“Then you sent it, wretch!” answers Phil sternly. 
“Hererra, the telegraph operator, was dead drunk for 
a week. You were the only person skilled to send a 
dispatch in Coban at that time. Oh, that hit you, Jeze- 
bel! You wandered into the telegraph office for news 
of proclamation against him, you were already tired of 
your old bridegroom. There was no one there, but you 
saw my dispatch lying upon the desk. That gave your 
infernal mind an idea ; you made Morazan the fugitive, 
not Saxon ! No wonder you looked back always — you 
expected pursuit! You dropped the lace scarf at the 
entrance of the Chocon River; that was to bring the 
soldiers you knew were coming after us! Then both 
in Livingston and in Izabal, you wanted to go out into 
the streets, so as to tell the troops such things that 
would bring death to poor old Don Diego. I understand 
all now, or nearly all. You wedded Morazan, thinking 
to gain from him a fortune ; and then you wanted the 
poor old soldier dead, so that you could spend it. But 
when you got here you found, to your dismay, the 
money had all, by deed of gift, been made the absolute 
property of Lucia; then you sent her away to school 
and produced the boy of Italian eyes — Jose — so as 
to make claim, if necessary, for Diego’s posthumous 
child. But you soon discovered an easier way — Lucia’s 
business writing lessons to Arturo Enrique Vannez, 
her trustee — for getting it all! Then, having her for- 
tune in 'your bank account, you would have married 
the heiress to a poor mechanic and so have made a 
drudge of my darling forever. Oh, but when I’m her 
husband, it will be a different matter with you; I’ll 
have no mercy!” 


PHIL CONWAY. 285 

'Tooh, civil action!” laughs Sofia, waving a white 
arm airily. '‘By that time ” 

“By that time you will be in prison for the attempt 
upon my life !” Phil glances towards the parrot’s cage. 

“Juries don’t forgive, even very pretty women, such 
diabolic plots as Chico’s cage,” laughs Andrus. 

Sofia gives a shudder, but contrives to say faintly: 
“Absurd ! Preposterous 1” 

“Preposterous? I have Johnny Brewster’s state- 
ment of leaving the wire, test number 38756, at your 
house on Seventy -seventh Street. Even the wire can 
be traced to you by the means you took to bring Johnny 
Brewster to the electric chair.” 

“Yes, Johnny Brewster said you were still juicy,” 
jeers Von Tschudi. 

“You cut the number so that it could be identified, 
and left one portion in your Colonial clock, where 
it could be found if necessary; the other portion you 
used to bring death to poor Chico,” remarks Conway 
sternly. 

And Andrus, quietly matching the pieces of the wire 
before Sofia’s eyes, she nearly succumbs, but contrives 
to say faintly : “How should I know ” 

“That a high-tension wire is in the room above and 
used for photography by Girton?” whispers Von 
Tschudi. “You were photographed by it!” He pro- 
duces a lovely representation of the fair widow, and, 
as she staggers back, laughs, “Besides, I saw you do 
it, from my room across the court, one story up !” 

This is an awful lie, but it has an awful effect upon 
the lovely culprit. She gasps: “God help me!” and 
succumbs, sinking down palsied into a chair. 

“Now just two questions,” says Phdip sternly. “Why 
did you, with your astute mind, take the chances of a 
criminal attempt upon my life when you thought you 
had within your hands a certain weapon — that tele- 


286 


PHIL CONWAY. 


gram — to prevent my marriage with the lady who calls 
you mother?” 

“The lady who calls you mother” gives Sofia a little 
confidence in Conway’s mercy. She says: “Well, I’ll 
make a clean breast of it. The electric wire was quick- 
est. Besides, at that time I did not know enough to be 
sure of the other weapon, which even , now has failed 
me ; so I contrived to get those notices inserted in the 
newspapers, thinking that they might cause confession 
from you. To me you made no revealing; but I got 
all the information I wished froin that telephone” — she 
points to the instrument — “as you told your tale to this 
jabbering sociologist.” She glares at Von Tschudi. 

“Aha, as I guessed !” cries the German. “She heard 
enough before our interview was half over to write 
on her own typewriter that letter from ‘A freund of 
Guatemala,’ and then this evening brought to us an- 
other letter addressed to her by ‘A Friend of Guate- 
mala.’ ” 

“And gave me two days of almost hopeless misery,” 
sighs Philip. Turning on Sofia he whispered in awful 
menace : “For this I will never forgive you !” 

But Von Tschudi, touching Phil’s arm, says: “And 
yet, but for her, that telegram would have always been 
a specter between you and your wife. Think that 
this woman only took your sweetheart’s money. Think 
how it might have been ! She might have put Lucia 
in the streets to drift about, an unknown waif in an 
unknown city. Instead of which she has educated her 
— for her own purpose, it is true — and made her in her 
beauty such a bride as scarce can be found in all this 
world. Mein Gott, how proud you will be to-morrow 
of one so innocent, so unlike some society darlings you 
brush against in New York salons.” 

“By Heaven,” mutters Conway, his eyes beaming 

with reverent joy for his betrothed, “for this I will 


PHIL CONWAY. 


287 


have mercy on her. She has given me Lucia Mora- 
zan! Arrange it so that my darling’s fortune, Von 
Tschudi, for which her poor old father gave his life, 
is restored to her, for Lucia has a pride in being not 
altogether dowerless. See that this woman signs this 
document” — he takes one from his desk — “I had pre- 
pared to-day and properly attests it. It but restores 
to my bride the million of which she has been robbed. 
The other million, made by this woman’s adroit specu- 
lations, is Sofia’s own. Doubtless she’s short on Amer- 
ican Metal Common,,” he half laughs ; then says reso- 
lutely : “And now to protect Mrs. Saxon !” 

Stepping into the hall he calls pleasantly : “Bost- 
wick, if you’re not tired of lounging about outside, 
come in and have a cigar !” 

At this the detective issues sheepishly from a dark 
corner, a sardonic grin upon his face. He guesses he 
is coming in to bring no good to Philip Conway. He 
doesn’t like this gentleman very well to-day, being 
long of two hundred shares of American Metal that 
this operator has thrown down in the stock market 
and changed a profit for him into a loss. But he starts 
as he takes a cigar from Conway’s box af seeing the 
abject attitude of his employer. 

Madame Morazan is gazing as if fascinated by a 
snake; and that snake is Von Tschudi who is making 
up a package of Chico’s half destroyed cage, the copper 
wire, a pair of broken scissors and her photograph, 
posed by the amateur Girton. 

But Phil, as he puts a match to his own weed, says 
to the detective hastily : “You were employed by this 
lady to watch the advent of another, one whom I greatly, 
honor ?” 

“Yes, this supper party is given to Mrs. Saxon, the 
affianced of Mr. Bellinger, Phil’s friend from Guate- 
mala,” interjects Andrus, still occupied with his pack- 


288 


PHIL CONWAY. 


age. would not be well if Actia’s uncle knew of 
her coming.” 

“No, ye’re not particularly good friends financially, 
with Cartwright Haswell, I reckon, Mr. Conway,” 
grins Bostwick. “Throwing down his pet stock on 
which I’m long and taking the dollars out of my 
pocket like you ruthless Wall Street men, who pluck 
even those you call your friends.” 

“I don’t pluck my friends !” answers Phil. “Re- 
membering your kindness to me in Guatemala, and 
hearing you last night state you were long of two 
hundred American Metal Common, and knowing there 
would be a break, I took the liberty of selling them 
for your account at fifty-two and a half.” 

“Oh, ye did, did ye ? Well, that’s mighty kind !” 
The detective’s grin is very broad, his manner very 
friendly. 

“Yes, you’ll get a notice of it to-morrow from my 
firm,” remarks Phil. 

“Oho,” jeers Von Tschudi to himself, “bribery and 
corruption !” 

“Therefore, as I said before,” goes on Conway, “all 
you’ve got to do about this matter to be my friend, 
is to forget that this evening ever existed. Will you 
do it?” 

“By gum, I will !” cries Reuben, and slaps his palm 
into his host’s extended hand. Going out he mutters : 
“Be his friend? You bet I will. They say he’s one 
of the coming powers in Wall StreelT and so passes 
away, leaving Actia Saxon’s far* xame untouched 
either to the world or to cranky old Cartwright 
Haswell. 

The tears are flowing from Madame Morazan’s bril- 
liant eyes, she is gazing imploringly on Andrus who is 
sealing up the package. 

Phil has turned eagerly towards the next room. 


i>HIL CONWAY. 


289 

where is the face he loves, bright with happiness 
and waiting for him ; but Von Tschudi, stepping to him 
and drawing him aside, whispers : “Don’t forget Mrs. 
Saxon is the affianced of Bellinger !” 

“That’s infernally curious !” returns the Wall Street 
man, emitting a perplexed whistle and a big puff of 
smoke. 

But V on Tschudi continues, in warning voice : “It is 
your safety. Lucia can again be jealous. Mrs. Saxon 
is very beautiful. And now” — the German’s tone 
is very eager — “you promised to me if your marriage 
skies were bright without a single cloud — and yet you 
could have done this all yourself, great man !” 

“Humph, I should have been planted two days ago,” 
rejoins Phil, glancing significantly towards the pack- 
age Andrus guards under his arm. “See that this 
woman does the things I have commanded !” He con- 
fronts Madame Morazan and whispers : “You’re bet- 
ter, Von Tschudi, at compounding a felony than I am. 
I leave the punishment of this most astute lady in your 
hands !” then passes into the dining room to his bride 
and Mrs. Saxon. 

“Aha!” This is a snort of such concentrated joy 
from the German that it makes Sofia spring wildly up 
and falter : “My God, what are you going to do with 
me ?” 

“I am going to marry you !” and Von Tschudi gives 
such a grin of mocking triumph that Sofia gasps hur- 
riedly: ''Mein Gott!” 

“That’s what it will be ! I am the ealy one who can 
properly see that Mr. Conway’s wishes are carried out 
and restitution made to Lucia Morazan. Do you think 
Osterfeldt would stand calmly by and let you cut your 
property in half? But I am modest! Donnerwefter, 
one million is enough for me ! Besides, it is your cer- 
tain safety from prosecution.” 


290 


PHIL CONWAY. 


“Aha, a husband cannot give evidence against his 
wife !” she says almost roguishly. 

“Right, my bright devil!” whispers Von Tschudi 
enthusiastically ; then continues savagely : “And I’m 
going to make you an old-time wife; no divorce-court- 
modern spouse for me ! When I give command, you’ll 
march !” 

Sofia glances at him and flushes angrily ; she knows 
he means his words. 

“Verdammt, no rebellion from you! Put up those 
pouting lips for husband’s kisses ! Ach Himmel, I 
once kissed thy beauteous picture, but now it is the 
real flesh and blood. Those lips at once!” 

“Do you know,” says Sofia archly, “I like brave men, 
and you are one.” And she obeys him. 

But they are interrupted by Manuel announcing 
Mr. Bellinger. 

Andrus springs to meet him in the hall. That gentle- 
man says: “Just got your message. Von Tschudi, at 
the theater and came at once. What the deuce is 
up?” 

“Only a little supper given by Mr. Conway,” says 
the German in cautious voice, “in your honor and that 
of a lady who I believe is your fiancee, Mrs. Actia 
Saxon. You know; the one you spoke of as being 
engaged to this evening.” 

“I?” 

“Certainly. You indicated you had proposed to 
her.” 

“Why, several times, but ” 

“But at last she has succumbed to steadfast wooing. 
You wrote to her from Verapaz.” 

“Why, hang it, yes, but she didn’t answer my letter.” 

“She answers it now. I heard with my own ears, 
this beautiful creature announce her betrothal to you. 
You are a happy man !” 


PHIL CONWAY. 


291 


It is easy to make a man believe what he desires. 

“What? Gracias a DiosT stammers Bellinger, who 
under excitement uses Spanish expletives. “By 
Heaven, at last!” The long-time wooer’s eyes light 
up impatiently. 

“She’s in there at supper with Phil and his affianced. 
What • could be prettier than Conway’s delicate com- 
pliment? But not a word of this, because her uncle, 
Cartwright Haswell, is Phil’s financial enemy.” 

The last of this is only half heard by the enthusi- 
astic Bellinger. He dashes into the dining room. 

Mrs. Saxon, with a faltering cry, rises to meet him. 
She sees in his face that he knows she has been given 
to him. As her lovely eyes droop in inexpressible em- 
barrassment and shame before his ardent glance, he 
takes her pale face strongly in his hands and ere she can 
shield her lips, Actia becomes crimson under his en- 
raptured kisses. Then he whispers : Dios mio, my own 
at last.” 

“Now,” says Von Tschudi, turning to Sofia, who 
has gazed at the advent of the suddenly engaged 
gentleman with a curious gleam in 'her acute eyes, 
“come with me!” 

“Where?” 

“To the minister! Best strike while the iron is hot! 
All is prepared. Come !” 

“Ach wie wundervoll, you are a brave man !” mur- 
murs the lady, though she very docilely lets Andrus 
cloak her and a strange thrill of submission runs down 
her spine, for he audaciously has kissed each dimple 
on her shining shoulders until they glow as if touched » 
by fire. As they pass from the apartment, she laughs 
sarcastically : “There’s another surprised lady here to- 
night, I imagine.” 

Phil’s supper party is not a long one, though a very 
happy one to at least three of its members. Actia is 
too overcome to taste a feast that has been spread by 


292 


PHIL CONWAV. 


a Midas hand ; she scarce touches the viands placed in 
front of her or the rare wines poured out for her lips, 
though Bellinger does yeoman duty oh all of them, 
laughing : “After fried eggs, frijoles and tortillas this 
is like Aladdin’s dream when he won the Princess of 
China.” His eyes, big with the pent-up passion of 
years, fixed on Mrs. Saxon’s exquisite beauty, bring 
up such waves of color as scarce have been seen upon 
a lady’s face before. 

“Gracious, Phil, Actia makes me ashamed of myself, 
she’s so much more diffident than I,” laughs his fian- 
cee, “and yet by these blushes even more loving.” 

“She should be; Pve adored her longer!” asserts 
Bellinger. “And now” — for Actia has risen, fluttering 
bashfully that she must go, her uncle will expect her 
home — “77/ do the escort business I” There is a posses- 
sion in his tone that makes the suddenly betrothed 
droop her eyes and tremble till she fears the rustling 
of her skirts will tell her quaking embarrassment. 

Just here Lucia exclaims: “Why, where’s mamma? 
She has forgotten the supper 1” 

“Mamma is here!” says Von Tschudi, making his 
appearance with a lady whose face seems very red 
also. 

Perhaps it is because a little orchestra hid away in 
Phil’s library suddenly strikes up the wedding march. 

“What a lovely complim^ent for both of us, Actia; 
Phil thinks of everything. Why, you are trembling, 
dear !” murmurs Lucia to Mrs. Saxon as the two ladies 
pass down the stairs together. “How you must love 
Mr. Bellinger, you are so very bashful. I’m not half 
so scared of Phil. Besides, your beloved kissed you 
once, right before us all.” 

Mrs. Saxon doesn’t answer this; the thought that 
her lips have been possessed by Bellinger seems to 
overawe her. 

Manuel has got three carriages at the entrance. 


PHIL CONWAY. 


293 


Draping her clinging skirts about her pretty feet, 
she stands trembling, irresolute. To take action now 
will expose her secret surely to Madame Morazan, 
whose acute eyes meet hers in sarcastic inquiry. She 
hangs her lovely head, her lips still burn from Bel- 
linger’s caress. 

That gentleman impetuously steps to her side. “By 
Jove, Conway,” he ejaculates, “you think you’re a 
happy man ; but you’re not in it with me ! Por Dios, 
after so long!” His arm goes round Actia’s lithe 
waist. It is the first time she has felt the possession 
of his clasp ; she nearly faints. Before she can regain 
her senses the ardent Charlie has lifted her into the cab. 

“Won’t you come also, Lucia?” Mrs. Saxon falters 
faintly. . 

“Not for the world 1” 

Von Tschudi is at the carriage door, remarking: 
“Quick, Mr. Bellinger!” 

But the impatient wooer is already in the carriage 
and as he drives away is pulling down the blinds. 

“Did you see Bellinger’s face?” whispers Lucia to 
Phil as he puts her in his carriage. “Actia will be 
kissed to pieces !” 

“And what will happen to you?” 

“Oh, I expect it ! I’m your bride to-morrow — no, 
Phil, this is our wedding day !” for the clocks are strik- 
ing midnight. 

At the house on Seventy-seventh Street Lucia, say- 
ing: “I must have bright eyes for the ceremony,” has 
whispered “Good night !” and ran up to bed, Conway’s 
glances following her. But business awaits him in the 
dining room. Here he meets Von Tschudi and Sofia. 

“This is the deed you demanded, signed and 
properly attested by a notary public,” remarks the 
former. 

“Yes,” says Phil, looking it oven “This gives 


294 


PHIL CONWAY. 


Lucia her own. She doesn’t know your perfidy to her, 
Madame Morazan. She shall never know it, because 
she called you ‘mother,’ and I don’t want my darling 
to guess there is such treachery in the world. But 
don’t you put your lips upon her again !” 

“Oh, why not? Would my kiss do her more harm 
than it did to-day? Besides” — tears are in Sofia’s eyes 
— “in my way I love her. Oh, don’t shake your head 
at me. If I had not — she would have been more easy 
than the parrot’s cage, but I — I couldn’t do it!” Even 
Von Tschudi is gazing at her in horror. 

“Nevertheless,” says Phil sternly, “I will make Lucia 
entirely safe from you. Von Tschudi ” 

“Oh that is all arranged,” interjects the German. 
“From this moment till Lucia is your wife, Sofia never 
leaves my sight. I take her with me to the ‘Mephisto.’ ” 

“What I” 

“As my wife! Married to me while you were at 
supper !” 

“By Heaven, you’re a wonder!” mutters Conway, 
astounded. 

“We shall be here early in the morning,” remarks 
Von Tschudi. “Your bride at present shall not guess.” 

* * Jk 

To the strains of Mendelssohn’s wedding march, the 
concourse gathered together to see Phil Conway and 
Lucia made one are passing out of an uptown Catholic 
church. Von Tschudi is placing Sofia in her carriage. 

“And now,” whispers the lady to him, “you’ll give 
me that packet, dear one? You know what I mean.” 

“Never, nieine GeliebteT 

“Never?” 

“No, that packet is now locked up in a safe deposit 
vault — I don’t even tell you which one — with such in- 
structions to the officers of the company that it will not 


PHIL CONWAY. 


295 


be opened till after my death. A paper with it — a full 
statement of everything; suggesting if I pass away 
mysteriously, to look carefully into the details of my 
demise. It is my lift insurance, Mein Hers. I am a 
brave man but not a rash one.’’ 

“Oh, you crafty darling,” whispers Sofia — then 
tremblingly ejaculates: “That breeze! For God’s 
sake you’ll catch cold I” 

“Don’t trouble yourself about buttoning up my over- 
coat,” grins Andrus, “the day is mild and I shall not 
catch pneumonia just at present, though I can see I 
v/ill be well nursed in case of sickness, rneine angebetete 
Gottin.'’ 

Two ladies, looking upon this domestic scene from 
, the sidewalk, discuss it. “Did you see Madame Mora- 
zan making love to that fat German?” 

“Why, yes. She’s to be his bride. I’m told.” 

“No; Osterfeldt’s the man!” 

“Not a bit ! And worse ” the lady whispers into 

the other’s ear. 

“My Heaven!” ejaculates the second one, with a 
little scream: “Last night! Horrible! Such foreign 
goings on !” 

“Yes, Harry Bloomer told me. You know he lives 
in the ‘Mephisto,’ that awful bachelor apartment house. 
But here’s the bride! And low-necked too, Spanish 
style! Mr. Conway is Protestant, special dispensation 
you know ! My, doesn’t the groom look happy. They 
say he’s short one hundred thousand shares of Ameri- 
can Metal. It’s gone down three points more to-day.” 

^ ^ He 

A few days later, one afternoon Conway is at the 
office of the “Mephisto,” arranging for the breaking up 
of his bachelor apartment. Manuel is flitting about, 
bringing down some packages labelled “Lakewood.” 


296 


PHIL CONWAY. 


Gazing upon them, Phil thinks of the bride whose arms 
make Lakewood heaven. 

The clerk says politely : “ Awful sorry you’re going, 
Mr. Conway. We have another departure also — Mr. 
Von Tschudi. He’s a wonderful old party, just got 
poor Bloomer out of another of his woman scrapes. 
The idiot was afraid this time he’d have to marry. By 
the by, Von Tschudi’s married also — to a devilish fine 
woman who adores the very ground he puts his boots 
on. They were here the other day and Andrus said he 
had a slight headache and she nearly fainted. She’s 
got rocks too. But I forgot — she’s your — your — 
they’ve — they’ve gone to Europe,” stammers the gossip 
at the desk. 

Emitting a reflective whistle, Phil steps out to Bel-» 
linger, who is waiting for him at the entrance. “By 
the by, old man, how are things going with you ?” he 
asks. 

“Oh, the best in the world. Por Dios, but she’s 
awfully bashful, though. But yesterday Haswell, her 
crusty uncle, asked me up to dinner, and — well, Actia 
— oh, well I guess it’s all right. You know I kissed 
her once and somehow that makes her mighty tender to 
me.” 

Phil looks at his friend reflectively and also guesses 
it is all right. He remembers Von Tschudi’s astute re- 
mark that Actia is a sticker. 

Hurrying to the ferry Phil chances to encounter the 
carriage of Cartwright Haswell. That gentleman for 
a moment glares at him ; then smiles and makes a mo- 
tion that he would like an interview. So Philip stops his 
cab and, being the younger man, jumps out and comes 
up to the banker’s carriage, that is drawn up alongside 
the curb. The magnate looks at him and says : “I 
guess I was a little hasty, Conway, and perhaps you 
were not altogether wrong.” 


PHIL CONWAY. 


297 


“The ticker looks like it/’ remarks Phil pleasantly. 

“By the by,” says Haswell, “I just wanted to ask 
you a question. What kind of a man is your friend 
from Guatemala, Mr. Bellinger?” 

“The best fellow in the world!” replies Conway en- 
thusiastically. “Lost his money in a Chicago wheat 
deal; went down to Guatemala and has made a com- 
petency there, perhaps even a little better.” 

“Well, most young men who have the pluck to specu- 
late get ‘busted’ onceT remarks the banker grimly. 

“Thank you for the hint,” replies. Conway. “I’ll 
try and be the exception to the rule.” 

“Oh, I don’t refer to you; you’ve graduated. By 
the by, can’t yol^ bring your bride over to a dinner I’m 
giving to Mr. Bellinger about a week from now. He’s 
a pretty shrewd fellow; or is it your hints on the 
market ?” * 

“Possibly mine,” remarks Phil. “I’ve steered him a 
little. I’ll come over with the greatest pleasure in the 
world; and I’m sure Mrs. Conway will be equally 
ha^ppy.” 

Then he turns his eyes towards Lakewood, and they 
grow misty with bridegroom’s tenderness, he thinks: 
“All’s well that ends well.” 


FINIS. 












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